


Another Plane of Shambles

by TWS



Series: clownass germany nt saga [1]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: 200k+ words of this nonsense someone stop me it's nowhere near finished, Chatlogs, Drama, Drama & Romance, Drunk Texting, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff and Angst, Gossip, Group chat, Humor, Jonas is so sweet, M/M, Mats Hummels is done, Memes, Miro is a sweetheart too, Night Terrors, Plot, Romance, Slow Burn, Texting, Thomas is an embarrassing boyfriend, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Well almost everyone, but i love u all no matter what team you support :), but not really, chelsea is a nO in this household, i would die for bayern so if u support another german team lol no respect for you in this, jerome/lewy has consumed my entire whole life, marco and mats are at war, marco reus is a little shit, mentioning 2012 in the comments is disallowed, mesut and sami are in denial, real madrid is a no also, self indulgence at its finest, this is just written to cope with depression, this was meant to be all fluff? but there's angst too., timewasting nonsense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 02:49:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 72
Words: 415,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16399955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TWS/pseuds/TWS
Summary: Thomas: alright dickheads we've got a GROUP CHAT nowThomas: it took us long enough but we're all united nowJerome: mein gott don't say that thomasThomas: here's a safe place where we can send pics of manu conceding xxxManu: No the fuck we can'tMats: *image*Manu: Oh fuck offThomas: NEUER THE WALL***chronicles the misadventures of the world's most dysfunctional football team.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is completely for my own self indulgent, depressed ass. it consists entirely of teasing sami+mesut, gayness and reaction images and imr eally not expecting anyone at all to read this nonsense
> 
> for new readers!!! this fic took a turn!!! it's no longer trashy nonsense!! it's trashy nonsense with a plot!!! :))

_Thomas Muller made a group chat called: bayern won the bundesliga_

**Thomas:** alright dickheads we've got a GROUP CHAT now

**Thomas:** it took us long enough but we're all united now

**Jerome:** mein gott don't say that thomas

**Thomas:** here's a safe space where we can send pics of manu conceding xxx

**Manu:** No the fuck we can't

**Mats:**

****

**Manu:** Oh fuck off

**Thomas:** NEUER THE WALL

**Marco:** fuck off with ur bullshit group name

**Benni:** Agreed

**Miro:** What is

**Miro** : this ?

**Mats:** look at miro completely incapable of using a phone+typing

**Thomas:** i n t e l l e c t u a l

**Mario Gom:** Don't come for him he's trying

**Mario Gom:** it's a group chat Miro

**Julian D:** I'd rather not be able to type or use a phone if i was getting msgs from a guy like u mats

**Mats:** what are u saying, pussy?

**Julian D:** Im saying that i dont know how benni finds ur complete s l u t t i n e s s so attractive

**Julian D:** I saw ur texts when i was at schalke.

**Thomas:** WHAT DID HE SAY

**Benni:** I really don't know why you had to bring me into it Jule

**Julian D:** U weren't complaining at all back then.

**Julian D:** U weren't complaining at all.

**Mats:** damn right he wasn't

**Josh:** i need some context??? i've never heard this before jule???

_Private Chat between Julian Draxler and Joshua Kimmich_

**Julian D:** "I'll make you scream"

**Julian D:** "And you'll be calling me a greek god"

**Julian D:** Stuff like that but like

**Julian D:** More detialed

**Joshua:** ok EW

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Lukas:** first of all

**Lukas:** why is everyone on this team so fucking gay

**Per:** oh shut up lukas that's the pot calling the kettle a goddamn pot

**Thomas:** did LUKAS PODOLSKI really judge someone else for being gay

**Manu:**

**Jerome:** LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL

**Jerome:** mEiN hAsE 

**Miro:** You are ga 

**Miro:** You are gay Lukas too

**Thomas:** the judge has delivered his verdict

**Basti:** u scored an own goal there poldi

**Lukas:** first of all

**Lukas:** i wasn't saying i wasn't gay

**Lukas:** i was enquiring as to what juice this goddamn team is drinking that EVERYONE is gay

**Lukas:** it's a football team

**Lukas:** and EVERYONE is gay

**Lukas:** what gives

**Jonas:** I don't think Miro is gay?

**Jonas:** I mean i don't want to assume

**Jonas:** But he has sons

**Jonas:** I mean not that you can't be gay and not have sons

**Jonas:** But he had a wife

**Jonas:** But he could be bi

**Jonas:** Sorry I just scored multiple own goals too :(

**Thomas:** jonas u are the sweetest person in this team and nobody is allowed to come for you ever on my watch u are protected

**Thomas:**

**Miro:** I am

**Manu:** Yes?

**Mario Gom: !!!!!!!!**

**Mario Got:** is he saying he's gay or has he left his sentence unfinished

**Mario Got:** there's like multiple ways u can read that sentence

**Marco:** is it like, Yes, I am Gay or is it I am ... ___?

**Mats:** where has he gone

**Miro:** Sorry

**Miro:** My pgone turned off

**Miro:** I am bi JOnas

**Jonas:** Oh ! That is so nice :)

**Lukas:** ok so he's not explicitly gay but still 

**Lukas:** everyone else is

**Basti:** he has a point???

**Fips:** I can't believe I'm talking in this chat and agreeing with Lukas but here I am.

**Fips:** Thomas if I leave this chat you will add me straight back won't you.

**Thomas:** of course.

**Fips:** I am going to retire.

**Basti:** it's about time

**Lukas:** lmao it's been long enough. hurry it along fips

**Fips:** There's more chance of that happening than you scoring for Arsenal Lukas.

**Manu:** And there it is

**Thomas:** 1-0 TO FIPSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

**Lukas:** what happens now.

**Miro:** Retirement

**Lukas:** NOW you type fast enough

**Lukas:** there's more a chance of me retiring now than YOU scoring a goal out of the box first miro

**Miro:** It is my turn to retire

**Lukas:** 1-1

**Lukas:** ok so back to the gay

**Lukas:** ANYONE straight??? in this squad???

**Julian D:** Sami and mesut seem pretty straight to me

**Jerome:**

**Julian D:** What

**Mesut:** what are u ugly gossipmongering fools talking about now

**Jerome:**

****

**Mats:** we're talking about absolutely nothing

**Thomas:**

****

**Julian D:** What the FUCK is happening

**Joshua:** pm me jule

**Sami:** Wtf

**Mesut:** wtf 

_Private Chat between Joshua Kimmich and Julian Draxler_

**Julian D:** What the fuck is going on now

**Julian D:** Why are the weirdos sending reaction gifs

**Joshua:** sami and mesut are in the closet idiot

**Joshua:** could u be more stupid

**Julian D:** Shit you're right 

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Julian D:**

**Sami:** Can you guys stop the bullshit

**Mesut:** literally 

**Sami:** What are you all talking about

**Lukas:** mesut and sami

**Mesut:** what

**Sami:** What

**Mesut:**.... what

**Basti:** he answered your question

**Sami:** How?

**Manu:** He JUST SAID

**Mats:** mesut and sami!

**Mesut:** WHAT??!?!?!?!?

**Thomas:** i really don't know what you're confused about you asked a question and he answered

**Thomas:** mesut and sami!!

_Private chat between Manuel Neuer and Thomas Muller_

**Thomas:** manu i'm literally s h a k i n g

**Thomas:** with laughter

**Thomas:** they really don't get it

**Manu:** Adjieujreijei they're cute actually Thommy

**Manu:** I forgot that people in the closet still existed to be entirely honest with you

**Thomas:** LMAO

**Thomas:** honestly though we're the most accepting environment.... like... ever???

**Manu:** They play for different clubs I guess

**Thomas:** germany more like germagay

**Manu:** That doesn't work Thommy

**Thomas:** shut up

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Jerome:**  listen i really don't understand the confusion it's literally mesut and sami

**Sami:** Es hängt mir zum Hals heraus Mesut

**Mesut:** ich auch

**Mesut:** i'm going to leave this chat

_Mesut Ozil left the chat_

_Sami Khedira left the chat_

_Thomas Muller added Mesut Ozil to the chat_

_Thomas Muller added Sami Khedira to the chat_

**Sami:**  Mein GOTT!

**Miro:** Mesut and Sami

**Thomas:** mesut and sami indeed.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just realised the timeline of this fic makes no sense bc miro +fips + basti+ lukas r still in commission and lik it doesn't make any sense but its also a stupid messaging fic so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ also this chap is arguably worse than the last sorry

_Private chat between Sami Khedira and Mesut Ozil_

**Sami:** Mes

 **Sami:** Mes

 **Sami:** MES ANTWORTE MIR

 **Mesut:** ffs sami am i not allowed to sleep

**Mesut: WAS**

**Sami:** Im still thinking about what those idiots on the group chat were talking about

 **Mesut:** are u really getting urself worried about the stupidity that spouts from our teammates mouths

 **Mesut:** they're just talking, as per usual, garbage

 **Sami:** Yeah they're dumb but I scrolled up and Jule was like

 **Sami:** 'Sami and Mesut seem pretty straight to me'

 **Sami:** And Jerome went 

**Sami:**

**Mesut:** and??? it's just jerome making a 'joke'

 **Sami:** But then Thomas and Mats and Miro got in on it

 **Mesut:** sami. it's thomas and mats. miro doesn't even know how to use his phone properly

 **Sami:** What does that have to do with the fact HE'S IN ON THE JOKE

 **Mesut:** ever heard of something called 'teasing'? it tends to happen in teams of grown men

 **Mesut:** i bar thomas from the 'grown men' category

 **Sami:** Lol 

 **Sami:** Well u can be dismissive but I'm keeping an eye out

 **Mesut:** you do that and i'm going to go back to fucking sleep

 **Mesut:** thanks for waking me up with this gripping fucking news

 **Sami:** You're welcome

 **Sami:** Night Mes <3

 **Sami:** (edited) Night Mes :)

 **Mesut:** night sami <3

_bayern won the bundesliga_

_Thomas Muller added Jogi Low to 'bayern won the bundesliga'_

_Jogi Low left 'bayern won the bundesliga'_

_Thomas Muller added Jogi Low to 'bayern won the bundesliga'_

_Jogi Low left 'bayern won the bundesliga'_

_Thomas Muller added Jogi Low to 'bayern won the bundesliga'_

_Jogi Low left 'bayern won the bundesliga'_

_Thomas Muller added Jogi Low to 'bayern won the bundesliga'_

**Jogi:**  Thomas I will remove you from the starting lineup.

_Jogi Low left 'bayern won the bundesliga'_

_Private chat between Benedikt Howedes and Mats Hummels_

**Benni:** Mats julian hummels

 **Benni:** Did you use all the milk again

 **Mats:** benni

 **Mats:** listen

 **Mats:** when ur with somebody

 **Mats:** u have to learn the arts of sharing

 **Mats:** all ur beloved possessions with ur beloved

 **Mats:** i think u need to learn to adapt and realise a relationship involves 2 people

 **Benni:** MATS YOU USED ALL THE MILK

 **Benni:** I CAN'T KEEP BUYING MILK

 **Mats:** WHY NOT YOU'RE A FOOTBALLER

 **Mats:** YOU COULD BUY LIKE A BILLION MILK BOTTLES

 **Benni:** IT'S NOT ABOUT THE COST OF MILK

 **Benni:** IT'S THE PRINCIPLE

 **Benni:** I DON'T USE UP ALL YOUR RESOURCES

 **Mats:** I BEG TO FUCKING DIFFER

 **Mats:** YOU USE UP ALL MY LUBE

**Benni: OH MEIN GOTT MATS**

_bayern won the bundesliga_

  **Jerome:** can i add lewy to this chat

 **Marco:** no

 **Jerome:** was i asking u

 **Marco:** no but the answers no

 **Jerome:** y not

 **Marco:** this isn't a BAYERN chat this is a DEUTSCHLAND chat

 **Jerome:** y is it called bayern won the bundesliga then

 **Marco:** because thomas is an idiot

 **Jerome:** ur not even the maker of this chat marco go away

 **Jerome:** THOMAS

 **Thomas:** yes

 **Jerome:** can u add lewy to this chat

 **Thomas:** hmmm

 **Marco:** if u add lewy you should add bvb players js

 **Jerome:** he was ur TEAMMATE marco

 **Marco:** 'was' is the operative word

 **Mario Gom:** We 'd have to  add stuttgart players too

 **Benni:** And schalke

 **Julian B:** leverkusen

 **Thomas:** yeah jerome i like lewy but im gonna have to agree with the crowd here

 **Thomas:** if i invite lewy i'll have to invite the whole bundesliga let alone rafinha arjen james thiago javi blah blah

 **Thomas:** let's keep it german

 **Jerome:** dammit

_Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Robert Lewandowski_

**Jerome:** they said no rob

 **Robert:** :(

 **Robert:** Is it bc Marco said so

 **Jerome:** yes hes salty

 **Jerome:** also thomas said he'd have to invite the whole bundesliga if he let in a non-germany player

 **Robert:** Ok :(

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Jerome:**  hope you dickheads are happy

 **Marco:** it's balanced as all things should be

 **Basti:** did youreally just make a 

 **Basti:** reference

 **Basti:** jesus christ marco

**Marco:**

****

**Marco:** https://twitter.com/ReusSZN/status/1045943295640293376

 **Mats:** marco it's been 3 years.

 **Marco:** tHeRe aRe rEaLlY fUnNy vErSiOnS oF tHaT vIdEo

**Marco:**

****

**Mats:** mario literally left dortmund too.

 **Marco:** HE LITERALLY CAME BACK.

 **Jerome:** i find it amusing that everyone left dortmund

 **Marco:** i don't find it amusing at all.

 **Manu:** No club loyalty these days

 **Benni:** MANUEL NEUER DID YOU REALLY

 **Benni:** MATS DID HE REALLY

 **Benni:** DID YOU

 **Mats:** he did

 **Mats:** marco that's arguably worse

 **Manu:** I forgot.

 **Basti:** own goal

  _Private chat between Thomas Muller and Robert Lewandowski_

 **Robert:**  Thomas

 **Thomas:** yes

 **Robert:** Can I join ur group chat

 **Thomas:** no

 **Robert:** Why

 **Thomas:** you're not german

 **Robert:** WE'RE BEST FRIENDS

 **Thomas:** our friendship status doesn't make u german

 **Thomas:** just use the bayern group chat

 **Robert:** But

 **Thomas:** but nothing

 **Robert:** :(

_Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Robert Lewandowski_

**Robert:**  He said no

 **Jerome:** told you so

 **Jerome:** don't worry baby i want to talk to u

 **Robert:** <3333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333

 **Robert:** Being a top scorer means nothing these days

 **Jerome:** get your ass HOME and i'll show u how much it means

 **Robert:** On my way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im thinking this fic is gonna be a disorganised mess of interconnected group chat stuff and maybe actual like prose if ygm it's just all self indulgence to make me happy and im really into lewy/boa and mesut/sami ship actually

_Private chat between Marco Reus and Mario Gotze_

**Mario Got:** marco did you take my jeans

 **Mario Got:** the light blue ones

 **Mario** **Got** :with like the ripped knees

 **Mario Got:** because i want to wear them

 **Marco:** oh yeah i put them on this morning

 **Marco:** looks like you're going to have to go without them

 **Mario Got:** marco

 **Marco:** mario

 **Mario Got:** you can't just??? take my jeans

 **Marco:** why not

 **Marco:** you took my hoodie

 **Marco:** and also my nice shirt

 **Marco:** and when i told u to give them back

 **Marco:** u said 'no they smell like u'

 **Marco:** i was like

**Marco:**

****

**Mario Got:** but that's different than jeans

 **Mario Got:** taking ur boyfriend's upper body clothing is acceptable

 **Mario Got:** taking the jeans i wanted to wear today is just not

 **Marco:** perfectly balanced

 **Mario Got:** STOP MAKING AVENGERS REFERENCES FOR GOD'S SAKE

 **Marco:** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 **Marco:** just wear another pair of jeans damn

 **Mario Got:** but there's certain outfits you just have to fuckin coordinate

 **Mario Got:** and you've thrown a wrench in my plaN

 **Mario Got:** i'm meeting with marcel 2day!!

 **Marco:** poor you having to go through the ardous (arduous????? how tf do you spell it) task of picking new clothes

**Marco:**

**Mario Got:** fine

 **Mario Got:** be like that

 **Mario Got:** now i have to change my whole outfit

 **Mario Got:** are you happy?

 **Marco:** im bathing in the blood shed by this catastrophe

 **Mario Got:** im breaking up with u

 **Marco:** you do that, honey

***

It was approaching two in the morning, and Jerome Boateng was still awake. In the darkness of his bedroom, his face was illuminated by the dim glow of his phone. He was trying valiantly not to make noise, but he was reading one of those text chains that made it really fucking difficult not to laugh.

Robert, who was lying next to him, shifted slightly next to him, mumbling something incoherently. "Jeri...?"

"Shh, baby," Jerome murmured, kissing his boyfriend's forehead. "It's nothing. Go back to sleep."

Robert obliged, his head dropping onto Jerome's side. Jerome kissed him again, smiling tenderly, and then returned his gaze to his phone.

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Fips:** In my defence.

 **Fips:** You never said it was a secret.

 **Basti:** BECAUSE I WOULD'VE THOUGHT IT WOULD BE OBVIOUS

 **Fips:** It's just a tattoo.

 **Thomas:** a fuckigng ass tattoo

 **Thomas:** saying AHA

 **Basti:** I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU FIPS

 **Basti:** I WAS DRUNK

 **Lukas:** he really was

 **Manu:** I genuinely think that I've never laughed harder in my entire life

 **Marco:** i thought me and mario were the gayest people

 **Marco:** and then you just come out and say this fips

 **Mario Got:** i'm actually kind of offended

 **Mario Got:** if we were going to be teased

 **Mario Got:** for being relentlessly gay

 **Mario Got:** at least let us hold the top spot

 **Jerome:** im hooting i just woke up rob

 **Basti:** I WAS DRUNK

 **Basti:** I GOT IT REMOVED

 **Lukas:** which i was kind of offended by

 **Thomas:** i can't believe the state of this team

 **Thomas:** me and manu really aren't this bad are we manu

 **Manu:** Honestly

 **Sami:** Thisis so fuckinrf funny

 **Sami:** Lukas you didn't think to take a single picture

 **Mesut:** i mean 

 **Mesut:** he didn't really need to

 **Mesut:** he was seeing it in person

 **Sami:** Honestly

 **Sami:** I can't believe they used to be in denial

 **Sami:** And then they do shit like that

 **Sami:** Didn't it go on for like 10 years

 **Miro:** Yes

 **Miro:** I saw it all

 **Fips:** You have no idea.

 **Miro:** I have dealt with

 **Miro:** 15 years of gay footballers

 **Miro:** Also closets

 **Miro:** People in closets I mean

 **Basti:** we were never in denial

 **Lukas:** i don't see the denial part of it all

 **Jerome:** ARE YOU SHITTING ME

 **Thomas:** just shut up you two

 **Mesut:** yeah you two were so obvious

 **Mesut:** like glaringly obvious

 **Sami:** Who were you trying to fool

Jerome clutched his mouth, letting out a sharp giggle that this time woke up Robert completely. Squinting at Jerome blearily, he said, "What's happening, baby?"

"Sorry for waking you, baby," Jerome laughed. "It's just the group chat. Sami's just thrown a bucket of irony over all of us?"

"What'd you mean?" Robert asked. Jerome showed him the chat. Robert's eyes widened.

 **Julian D:** Jesus C h r i s t

 **Joshua:** i wonder HOW you two could be so obvious basti and poldi... honestly!

 **Marco:** years of close friendship and being disgustingly close and unaware about it... 

 **Mesut:** literally

 **Mesut:** don't know why people can't just accept the obvious truth

"Oh, my God," Robert said in disbelief. "Is he joking or is he..." 

"He really isn't," Jerome snorted. 

 **Miro:** I am still dealing with it

 **Fips:** You really are, Miro.

 **Sami:** What'd you mean

 **Sami:** Everyone's pretty much out in the open in this team now lmao

"'Rome... he's not serious," Robert murmured, looking genuinely concerned.

Jerome was laughing so hard he was sure he was going to cry. One second later, he received not a group chat message, but a private message, from Mats.

_Private chat between Mats Hummels and Jerome Boateng_

**Mats:**  BOA I REALLY

 **Mats:** I REALLY CAN'T TOLERATE THIS

 **Jerome:** robert is literally staring at the screen in disbelief

 **Mats:** CAN WE JUST TELL HIM HE'S GAY

 **Jerome:** wouldn't be half as fun

Robert looked disapprovingly at his boyfriend. "You can't have fun at Sami and Mesut's expense, they need a push in the right direction!"

"We can't  _interfere,_ Rob," Jerome giggled. "Basti and Poldi figured it out eventually. And given how obvious everyone's being, they'll realise it soon."

"I hope so," Robert sighed, as the chat exploded with inappropriate reaction gifs to Sami's statement. "Poor Sami will look back at this and die with embarrassment."

"All the better for it," Jerome said, and he kissed Robert before the other man settled down, telling him he should sleep now. But the group chat was more important.

***

  _Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Sami Khedira_

 **Sami:**  Come on Mes

 **Sami:** You cant tell me they're being normal

 **Mesut:** yes i can

 **Mesut:** i don't know why you're convinced there's a conspiracy theory

 **Mesut:** we've known these fools for like a decade

 **Mesut:** they've absolutely always been like this

 **Sami:** I just

 **Sami:** You know?

 **Mesut:** i really dont

 **Sami:** You REALLY dont?

 **Mesut:** i really dont.

 **Sami:** Fine

 **Mesut:** don't be annoyed sami

 **Mesut:** i just think u worry too much

 **Mesut:** i mean i know i worry but u worry too

 **Sami:** Thanks for the insight Mes

 **Mesut:** you're welcome sami

 **Mesut:** i think that the time has inflated ur paranoia tho

 **Mesut:** it's like 3 am and i didn't even realise

 **Sami:** Yeah Basti's ass tattoo distracted me

 **Mesut:** literally

 **Mesut:** can you believe

 **Mesut:** he got an ass tattoo saying AHA

 **Mesut:** im in shock

 **Mesut:** god i hope i never end up like them

 **Sami:** Honestly Mes the transformation

 **Sami:** wE aReN'T toGeThEr 

 **Sami:** TO AN ASS TATTOO OF POLDI'S CATCHPHRASE!!

 **Mesut:** every time i hear the words ass tattoo i lose it

 **Sami:** A good way to end the convo

 **Sami:** Bc I'm tired

 **Sami:** Night mes x

 **Sami:** Don't stay up too late

 **Mesut:** nah if you're gonna sleep i will too

 **Mesut:** cya sami <3

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Thomas:**  where are they

 **Thomas:** they've just DISAPPEARED

 **Manu:** Probably had enough of the bullshit

 **Mario Got:** honestly they're both fucking adorable

 **Jerome:** rob says we have to point them in the right direction

 **Fips:** No you people will probably make them never want to talk to each other again.

 **Fips:** Let fate take its course.

 **Basti:** worked out for us i guess

 **Marco:** it's tempting though

 **Mario Got:** god it really is

 **Fips:** NO.

 **Fips:** Promise you all won't interfere.

 **Thomas:** fips come on

 **Fips:** I'm your captain and it's NO.

 **Manu:** I agree with Fips just let them find themselves

 **Manu:** If we embarrass them it might not work out

 **Mats:** yeah let's stick with gentle teasing

 **Thomas:** hold on what if they look back and see all of these messages

 **Thomas:** what if they're reading right now

 **Manu:** They're offline

 **Thomas:** ok everyone delete ur messages relating to this

 **Fips:** Thank you Thomas.

 **Miro:** Can you kids calm down some of us are trying to sleep

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if ur wondering why i've been updating so frequently it's bc im on holiday atm with a knee injury so i have NOTHING TO DO :) but u guys and writing this fic has really cheered me up so thank u all for ur lovely comments :))))))))


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a chain of roasting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so - time doesnt exist in this f ic ok its simultaneously in 2014 and 18 and its also at like every point in history so if u spot inconsistencies with like, reality, just, ignore it lol

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Toni:** I know I haven't talked on this chat, because, like

 **Toni:** What self-respecting person would

 **Toni:** But I want to know what u guys think Jogi's gonna do for our international break games

 **Thomas:** first of all im offended

 **Thomas:** second of all we know the tactic

 **Thomas:** deploy the GOAT, he scores the goals and we win

 **Miro:** Thank you Thomas

 **Thomas:** opa i don't know what level of reality you're operating on

 **Thomas:** but it's not this one

 **Thomas:** i was talking about ME

 **Toni:** Speaking of being out of touch with reality

 **Toni:** Seriously like what's Jogi going for

 **Toni:** Who thinks they're guaranteed a start

 **Marco:** it goes without saying.

 **Marco:** mats is going forward obviously

 **Marco:** he's a killer at the headers

 **Mats:** OF ALL THE THINGS

 **Mats:** YOU TARGET MY ONE REAL INSECURITY

 **Mario Got:** to be fair it'd probably do you some good to have your insecurities targetted

 **Benni:** Ok that? Was uncalled for

 **Benni:** I'm sticking up for him

 **Toni:** Oh my god can someone answer my question seriously

 **Marco:** benni when do you ever not stick up for him

 **Mats:** how about i go ahead and insult you reus

 **Mats:** why don't i target UR insecurity

 **Marco:** do it, pussy. 

 **Marco:** my self-love serves as a barrier to unsolicited opinions

 **Mats:** do you even have an insecurity

 **Mario Got:** honestly mats? i don't think so

 **Mario Got:** he's more self-assured than u are

 **Marco:** told u. self-love armour

**Marco :**

****

**Marco:** me thinking about myself

 **Marco:** if YOU really loved yourself mats u wouldn't have dyed ur hair blond

 **Mats:** IT WAS A BET

 **Mats:** I'M REALLY NOT ENJOYING YOU COMING FOR ME 

 **Mats:** CAN WE GO BACK TO TEASING SAMI AND MESUT

 **Toni:** CAN WE GO BACK TO MY QUESTION

 **Jerome:** everyone gets their time in the flames mats

 **Niklas:** Sometimes you fall flat on your ass in them

 **Niklas:** Can't be helped

 **Niklas:** Speaking of starting lineups... I rekcon I'm in for a shot!

 **Jerome:** LISTEN YOU LITTLE FUCKER

 **Jerome:** WHEN I SAID EVERYONE GETS THEIR TIME IN THE FLAMES

 **Jerome:** I MEANT EVERYONE BUT  **ME**

 **Niklas:** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 **Niklas:** Toni asked I answered

 **Mats:** niklas watching jerome's career fall apart

**Mats:**

**Jerome:** MY CAREER ISN'T FALLING APART

 **Jerome:** WHAT ABOUT POLDI

 **Jerome:** HOW MANY HAS HE SCORED FOR ARSENAL

 **Lukas:** oh come on.

 **Lukas:** i was minding my own business.

 **Fips:** Just like you do in the box.

 **Lukas:** YOU;RE OUR CAPTAIN YOU CAN'T BE DOING THIS

 **Lukas:** BASTI BACK ME UP

 **Toni:** OH MY GOD CAN WE??? TALK ABOUT??? FOOTBALL??? 

 **Basti:** what'd you want me to do poldi? lie?

 **Lukas:** this is

 **Lukas:** unbelievabl

 **Lukas:** at least i

 **Lukas:** at least

 **Lukas:** SCHALKE ARE 16TH IN THE BUNDESLIGA

 **Benni:** This is a bloodbath

 **Benni:** Every time I think I'm safe

 **Jerome:** talk about a fall from grace

 **Mats:** not even hero to zero benni

 **Mats:** second to

 **Mats:** i don't even know

 **Benni:** MATS I STOOD UP FOR YOU!

 **Benni:** Also Marco

 **Benni:** I've finally thought of a comeback

 **Benni:** You weren't so proud of yourself in 2013 were you

 **Marco:** right so let's talk about sami and mesut!

**Mario Got:**

**Thomas:** i think we should follow benni's lead and talk about bayern's endeavours in 2013

 **Marco:** um... i think we shouldn't?

 **Mats:** to be honest i agree with marco

 **Mats:** you're coming for me too there

 **Mats:** let's talk about thomas's goal drought

 **Thomas:** right i'm not liking that topic of conversation

 **Thomas:** mesut and sami it is!

 **Sami:** You can't say anything about me

 **Sami:** Champion's league???

 **Sami:** Die Tat wirkt mächtiger als das Wort.

** Sami: **  Mes on the other hand

 ** Mesut: **  sami khedira

**Sami:** When did arsenal last win something.  


** Sami: **  Wasn't it like

 ** Sami: **  Nine years?

 ** Mesut: **  SAMI KHEDIRA

 ** Lukas: **  sami khedira.

 ** Mesut:  ** did  real wIn the league tho

 ** Mesut: **  DID THEY

 ** Jerome: **  ok insulting real madrid??? i can get behind that

 ** Sami: **  Champion's League>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> La liga???????????????????????

 ** Sami:  ** Anyway JUVE won the league.

 ** Thomas: **  did THEY win the champion's league?

 ** Sami: **  ARSENAL DON'T WIN ANYTHING

 ** Fips: **  There's only one viable option to end this chaos.

 ** Fips: **  Admitting that you are all terrible people.

 ** Fips: **  I am the only person worthy of praise in this squad.

 ** Basti: **  um

 ** Basti: **  ???

 ** Basti: **  what have i done

 ** Lukas: **  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ynHt02etqw

 ** Basti: **  gott ist tot 

 ** Fips: **  See.

 ** Fips: **  I am morally above all of you barbarians.

 ** Fips: **  And on a footballing level.

 ** Fips: **  Ende gut, alles gut.

 ** Miro: **  What about me

 ** Miro: **  16 goals

 ** Miro: **  I beat Ronaldo

 ** Miro: **  Nice Ronaldo

 ** Fips: **  And Miro.

 ** Mats:  ** i really want to make a box joke but you know what miro?

 ** Mats: **  you're the best one

 ** Fips: **  But I won the Champion's League and captained us to winning the World Cup.

 ** Thomas: **  opa is better

 ** Thomas: **  he's germany's highest scorer

 ** Manu: **  I assisted him in demolishing England

 ** Manu: **  Sweetest moment

 ** Manu: **  You can't insult me either

 ** Manu: **  I've saved your asses so many times

 ** Thomas: **  honestly? agreed, schatz

 ** Jerome: **  miro is still our god

 ** Jerome: **  16 

 ** Jerome: **  that bra71l goal really took the cake

 ** Lukas:  ** i' ll take it over fips

 ** Marco: **  yeah i can get behind the decision of miro being the best of us

 ** Mario Got: **  my world cup winning goal doesn't count???

 ** Mario Got: **  miro was subbed out for me???

 ** Julian D:  ** Mario

 ** Julian D: **  Are you a record-breaker

 ** Mario Got: **  i won us the world cup???

 ** Julian D: **  But are you in the guiness world records

 ** Mario Got:  ** winning goal???

 ** Julian D: **  I'm not seeing a response to my question

 ** Julian D: **  Not a world record breaker??? Not been playing forever???

 ** Julian D: **  You're invalid

 ** Mario Got: **

** Miro: **  Case Klosed

 ** Toni: **  I'm never talking in this group chat again

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isnt funny im sorry im suck :((  
> also the miro appreciation is bc i LOVE miro so much


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the eternally suffering captain of the nationalelf suffers some more

Manu was eating an omelette when his boyfriend dragged his sorry carcass into the kitchen and hurled himself into a chair with a moan. He paid Thomas not the slightest bit of attention as he munched on his breakfast, but after several moments of being stared at dolefully, he finally broke.

"I'll make you your stupid hangover drink."

Thomas sighed happily. "Manu, I knew there was a benevolent deity out there that sent me you, and if I'm ever annoying to you again-"

"I'll know you're back to normal." Manu placed the rest of his omelette between his teeth and pushed his chair back as Thomas rummaged in his pocket and took out his phone.

He winced as he turned it on and was temporarily disarmed by the brightness of the screen. "Mein Gott. It's like looking at an eclipse." After adjusting his settings, he turned to the group chat, which had become his habit to check over the past week.

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Marco:** i got like

 **Marco:** thirty drunk snaps from mats last night

 **Marco:** what were you all DOING

 **Benni:** What kind of drunk snaps

 **Marco:** don't worry urself benni

 **Marco:** he was saying shit like 'dortmund is actually an ok team and i know i pretend that im apart from it but ofc i have an attachment and i wish u well'

 **Marco:** 'but i obviously want bayern to crush you'

 **Marco:** and then he sent me a picture of a shirtless thiago alacantra who was chugging beer

 **Benni:** Ok carry on

 **Mats:** benni do u have absolutely no faiath in me

 **Mats:** if i was gonna send drunken nudes

 **Mats:** it wouldn't be to marco

 **Benni:** Who WOULD they be to then?

 **Mats:** anyway! wtf marco i never said any of that

 **Marco:** how would you know. you were wasted

 **Marco:** anyway what the hell were bayern doing

 **Mats:** well you know how wies'n is meant to be fun and family friendly

 **Mats:** yeah we took the fun and family friendly out of it

 **Marco:** you bavarians are so fucking weird

 **Marco:** don't bayern have a troupe of cameras following them so they can show the whole world they're having fun

 **Mats:** they went eventually.

 **Mesut:** i actually miss going to oktoberfest to be honest

 **Mesut:** england doesn't have any of that

 **Mesut:** they have gratuitous drinking but not the atmosphere

 **Lukas:** honestly.

 **Fips:** You two don't wish you were there yesterday.

 **Fips:** The esteemed Robert Lewandowski dissolved into tears and called me his dad.

 **Jerome:** ok fips? that was funny as hell

 **Thomas:** you guys didn't even see arjen

 **Thomas:** you know when you rub your stomach and pat your head at the same time

 **Thomas:** he was just patting both and giggling

 **Thomas:** anyway i have a mruderous hangover and manu?? is being a king and making me my special Drink

 **Jerome:** does he want you to die

 **Jerome:** that shit is disgusting

 **Thomas:** um??? how about you shut your filthy mouth

 **Thomas:** it's reinvigorating

 **Benni:** It reinvigorates your immune system as it tries to eject the shit entering your body

 **Basti:** thomas i'd take the hangover out of that trash

**Basti: and my head t h r o b s**

**Jerome:** rob is like flat out lol

 **Jerome:** he really went all out last night

 **Jerome:** when we were going to bed he hugged me and he said 'you're the best and i want to kiss you all the time' and then he kissed my nose

 **Jerome:** and started giggling

 **Jonas:** That is so cute

 **Thomas:** aW

 **Basti:** oh yeah jerome jsut rub  it in that ur boyfriend is right with u

 **Basti:** wies'n isn't the same without lukas

 **Mats:** oh stop your damn pining schweinsteiger

 **Mats:** the international break is literally in like,,,, a week

 **Lukas:** you all don't understand 

 **Lukas:** WE'RE ON OTHER SIDES OF THE GLOBE

 **Thomas:** germany isn't fucking mordor

 **Basti:** i just WANT TO SEE LUKAS

 **Basti:** is that too much to ask

 **Mesut:** yeah well

 **Mesut:** we cant' always get what we want schweinsteiger

 **Mats:** and what is it you want mesut?

Thomas guffawed, attracting Manu's attention. As he uncharitably set Thomas's hangover drink (thick, green, containing steeped coffee grounds, diet pepsi, mint sauce and taken with an aspirin) in front of him and only grudgingly accepted the peck on the lips in thanks, he looked at Thomas questioningly.

"Check  _bayern won the bundesliga,_ " he giggled. Manu sighed and rummaged in his pocket.

 **Mesut:** what

 **Lukas:** what is it you want?

 **Mesut:** i'll tell you what i want

 **Mesut:** for all of you to stop being so fucking weird

 **Mesut:** you've got sami thinking there's a conspiracy theory against us

Manu roared with laughter. "Oh, mein Gott, it's perfectly crafted humour."

 **Jerome:** where is sami mes?

 **Mesut:** probably sleeping

 **Mesut:** he hasn't answered my texts

"He knows what Sami is doing at all times!" Thomas gasped, as he tipped his drink down his throat. "This is unbelievable."

 **Mario Got:** why hasn't he answered your texts?

 **Mesut:** bc??? he's probably sleeping??

 **Marco:** what if he's ignoring you

 **Mesut:** what

 **Mesut:** why would he be ignoring me

 **Marco:** shit happens

 **Thomas:** yeah, once manu ignored me for like a day because i put 4 pens past him in training

 **Manu:** That is literally not true?

 **Mario Gom:** I put a single goal past you in training once and you called me a dick

 **Mario Gom:** It's perfectly believable.

 **Manu:** This is libel

 **Jerome:** maybe u should check he's not ghosting u mes

 **Mesut:** you're all full of, as the british say, shite

Thomas lapsed into giggles as the reaction images came flooding in. "Oh, Manu, if only Fips hadn't stopped us from interfering. I just want to see those two idiots happy."

"To be entirely honest with you, I feel like Sami's on the verge of realising it, anyway," Manu sighed, sipping his coffee and pushing a plate of toast at Thomas, who accepted it with another peck on the lips. "He's suspecting there's a conspiracy theory. Kommt Zeit, Kommt Rat."

"Vielleicht." Thomas grinned. "If they don't hurry it along, though, my good conscience will weigh me down, and I'll have to step in."

"If that happens, leave it to the emotionally mature, please, Thom."

"Hey! I resent that insinuation, I'm at my emotional peak."

"It's sad that your peak is dog shit."

"Yeah? Well your peak is- it's not even a peak. It's a hill. Not even a hill. It's just flat ground. A pavement," Thomas bit back.

He finished off his hangover drink and shuddered slightly.

Not out of disgust, but out of exhilaration, of course.

***

_Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Sami Khedira_

**Mesut:** hey

 **Mesut:** what you doing

 **Mesut:** im bored

 **Mesut:** are u awake

 **Mesut:** sami

 **Mesut:** SAMI

 **Mesut:** are u ignoring me

 **Sami:** I just woke up damn

 **Sami:** Calm down

 **Mesut:** aha see i knew you weren't ignoring me

 **Sami:** You barely gave me time to reply

 **Sami:** Why would I be ignoring you

 **Mesut:** just something the idiots said

 **Sami:** The idiots eh

 **Sami:** Who's worried about what they think now

 **Mesut:** not ME

***

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Fips:** Whoever keeps anonymously posting the pictures of me from last night:

 **Fips:** Cease.

 **Leon:** give me one (1) good reason

 **Fips:** I will give you two.

 **Fips:** One- I am a professional player.

 **Leon:** not good enough

 **Fips:** Two- I am the captain of this godforsaken team.

 **Fips:** I have influence over the starting lineups.

 **Leon:** ok almost good enough

 **Fips:** Goretzka.

 **Fips:** Delete them.

 **Leon:** it's not even me

 **Leon:** i just think it's funny

 **Fips:** I can assure you it's not.

 **Fips:** Thomas.

 **Thomas:** WHY do you ALWAYS assume it's me

**Mats:**

**Mats:** fips looking to blame thomas for everything that happens ever

 **Joshua:** it's more like this

**Joshua:**

****

**Fips:** Both are apt.

 **Fips:** And for good reason. 

 **Fips:** If it's not Thomas who is it.

 **Fips:** Delete them.

 **Jerome:** like leon said

 **Jerome:** give us one good reason

 **Fips:** I GAVE THEM.

 **Jerome:** remove me from the starting lineup, pussy.

 **Mats:** yeah jogi will do it anyway

 **Jerome:** MATS

 **Fips:** Don't derail the conversation with insulting again please.

 **Fips:** Jerome if it's you I swear to God.

 **Jerome:** it wasn't me actually

 **Manu:** It could be someone who isn't german

 **Manu:** Robert

 **Fips:** Jerome.

 **Fips:** Tell your boyfriend to delete them.

 **Jerome:** you have nothing over him

 **Jerome:** the embarrassing pictures will remain in the history books forevr

 **Fips:** No.

 **Fips:** Jerome.

 **Jerome:** Philipp.

 **Marco:** listen fips

 **Marco:** your embarrassing pics even out the scales between us

 **Marco:** if we're trash people you deserve to be a little trash too

 **Marco:** perfectly balanced, as all things should be

 **Fips:** Why.

 **Fips:** Why do you insist on doing this.

 **Mario Got:** honestly i ask him that every day

 **Mario Got:** it's just one of those things you get accustomed to in a relationship

 **Mario Got:** you learn to deal with it

 **Marco:** because a relationship should be

 **Mario Got:** oh for fuck's sake

 **Marco:** **perfectly**

**Marco: balanced.**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kindof shorter chapter apologies. ur comments have really boosted me forwards and im telling u writing this fic really boosts me too its so FUN


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no. 1  
> part 1!

_Private chat between Bastian Schweinsteiger and Lukas Podolski_

**Basti:** what time does ur flight arrive

 **Lukas:** um

 **Lukas:** ein moment

 **Lukas:** 2 o'clock

 **Basti:** G R E A T

 **Basti:** that means we have a lot of time to hang out :(

 **Lukas:** wow thanks basti

 **Basti:** sorry that was meant to be a smiley

 **Basti:** :)))))))))))

 **Basti:** im actually extremely excited

 **Basti:** i've missed you SO much

 **Basti:** like you don't even understand

 **Basti:** how much i've missed you

 **Lukas:** of course i understand

 **Lukas:** how'd you think i've been feeling

 **Lukas:** surrounded by the english and a goalscoring draught

 **Lukas:** all i've wanted for this whole season so far is just to see u again

 **Basti:** aW

 **Basti:** love you <333333333333

 **Basti:** when we see each other we can see each other again

 **Lukas:** how insightful

 **Basti:** i mean we can do stuff with each other

 **Basti:** thank god we have a day off too

 **Basti:** i'm just gonna? be with you

 **Lukas:** sounds like a plan my love

 **Lukas:** but there's one small thing i want to ask

 **Lukas:** when you're with me

 **Lukas:** what are you gonna do with me?

**Basti**

****

*******

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Jonas:** I'm really excited to come to Munich and see everyone again!

 **Thomas:** we're excited to see u too

 **Thomas:** miss seeing you in matches buddy!

 **Jonas:** Thanks! 

 **Mats:** yeah it's gonna be nice seeing u again jonas

 **Mats:** in the same part of deutschland and everything

 **Toni:** I'm not excited to see you idiots again

 **Toni:** All you're going to do is make fun of the real madrid goal drought

 **Manu:** You know us so well <3

 **Sami:** What will you all be saying to me ;)

 **Sami:** That's right, NOTHING

 **Julian D:** I'm sure mesut has things to say

 **Sami:** Oh yeah yeah yeah back to Sami and Mesut is it

 **Sami:** I'm immune to your stupidity now

 **Toni:** Tell me your secret Sami

 **Miro:** It will be good to see everybody

 **Miro:** I am coming from rome at

 **Miro:** 1 o clock

 **Thomas:** OPA me and manu will meet u

 **Miro:** I am going to Stuttgart first

 **Miro:** To go with mario

 **Thomas:** excuse

 **Thomas:** me?

 **Thomas:** manu

 **Manu:** Yes

 **Thomas:** did miro just

 **Manu:** Yes

 **Miro:** Don't be offended

 **Thomas:** TOO LATE

**Thomas:**

****

**Thomas:** wtf opa

 **Thomas:** i've been waiting to see you all this time

 **Thomas:** and you just SAY you're going with mario

 **Thomas:** you don't even miss me!

 **Miro:** I do

 **Thomas:** i don't think so

 **Miro:** I do

 **Thomas:** you don't act like it

 **Miro:** I do

 **Miro:** We will see each other soon

 **Thomas:** no go and see fucking stupid MARIO

 **Mario Gom:** Thanks, thomas

 **Leroy:** can't wait to land in munich and play with u guys!!!!!!!! :)))))

 **Jerome:** yeah leroy, training is always pretty fun

 **Joshua:** i just gasped

 **Leroy:** jerome...

 **Julian D:** Which Julian do you think is getting into the starting lineup

 **Julian D:** B or D

 **Thomas:** jogi likes his d

 **Manu:** LMAOAFOEJRIJGERIJG

 **Mats:** I SPAT OUT MY DRINK

 **Julian D:** I was about to be flattered but then I realised u were talking about ball scratching

 **Leroy:** do u think if i scratched jogi's balls he'd let me into the starting 11

 **Marco:** you know what keep that up your sleeve in case u get really desperate

 **Marco:** jogi is so surreal at this point i wouldn't discount the possibility

 **Manu:** I'm honking

 **Julian B:** leroy let's make it a double job

 **Julian B:** i'd really like to... just be on the pitch. for like 1 second

 **Leroy:** to be honest

 **Marc-Andre:** I share the sentiment

 **Marc-Andre:** I'm not complaining or anything

 **Marc-Andre:** And Manu you're like the best human on the planet

 **Marc-Andre:** But

 **Marc-Andre:** Yeah

 **Bernd:** thanks for sharing!

 **Marc-Andre:** You know what

 **Marc-Andre:** I'm just happy I'm here and Bernd isn;t

 **Manu:** That isn't the team mentality Marc!

 **Marc-Andre:**  Team mentality  can suck my dickthere's only one team and it's the 3 good goalkeepers and the trash one

 **Marc-Andre:** Aka Bernd

 **Bernd:** you know what ter stegen

 **Bernd:** you're unbelievable

 **Bernd:** i think u should get benched for barca

 **Bernd:** because all you do

 **Bernd:** is be stupid

 **Bernd:** and barca don't need a stupid keeper

 **Marc-Andre:** Even your comebacks are mediocre

 **Bernd:** i didn't concede against PERU

 **Marc-Andre:** Yeah because you haven't played at ALL

 **Thomas:** the waves of sexual tension really jumped out

 **Marc-Andre:** THE ONLY TENSION THERE IS

 **Bernd:** IS ANGER TENSION

 **Marc-Andre:** AND NOTHING ELSE

 **Mario Got:** wow guys it's okay

 **Mario Got:** you don't need to be aggressive about missing each other

 **Mario Got:** when me and marco were apart he was passive aggressive and pining

 **Mario Got:** he got over it!

 **Marc-Andre:** WE'RE NOT PINING

 **Bernd:** WE'RE REALLY NOT

 **Toni:** This is lovely

 **Toni:** It's great to know this group has the game winning mentality

 **Joshua:** the same game winning mentality madrid has?

 **Marc-Andre:** HA

 **Jerome:** LOS BLANCOS

 **Jerome:** **NEARLY BROKE A RECORD**

 **Jerome:** AND WHAT WAS THE RECORD

 **Jerome:** WHAT WAS IT I HEAR YOU ASK

 **Jerome:** THEIR LONGEST GOALSCORING DROUGHT

 **Toni:** For God's sake

 **Toni:** You're getting nutmegged for that Kimmich

 **Joshua:** nutmeg ur opponents instead of ur teammates

 **Jerome:** you couldn't even beat your goalscoring drought record

 **Jerome:** saddos

 **Toni:** Thomas will you let me leave this group chat

 **Thomas:** sure

 **Toni:** Really?

 **Thomas:** can't stop you can i

 **Toni:** Ok then

 **Toni:** Bye losers

_Toni Kroos left 'bayern won the bundesliga'_

_Thomas Muller added Toni Kroos to 'bayern won the bundesliga'_

**Toni:** Fuck's sake.

***

_Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Robert Lewandowski_

**Robert:** Hey baby

 **Robert:** I'm at the airport

 **Robert:** Gonna be leaving for Poland

 **Robert:** I love you sososososo much

 **Robert:** And I wish you the best of all the luck

 **Robert:** Go and destroy everyone

 **Jerome:** heyyy babyyyy text me straight after u land ok xxxx

 **Jerome:** i love you sosososososoosososooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo much

 **Jerome:** i will you go and be the goalscoring god you are schatz

 **Jerome:** love love love and see u after the break <3333

 **Jerome:** missing you already <33

 **Robert:** Missing you too, call me later!

 **Jerome:** you got it baby

***

_Private chat between Sami Khedira and Mesut Ozil_

**Sami:** Hey Mes

 **Sami:** What time are you guys coming from London?

 **Mesut:** we're coming in at 2

 **Mesut:** when are u coming from turin?

 **Sami:** An hour earlier

 **Sami:** Can't wait to see you bro

 **Mesut:** same 

 **Mesut:** i've missed you a lot

 **Mesut:** i hope the team hotels abroad have a table tennis setup

 **Mesut:** we can have our honourary game where i demolish u

 **Sami:** Good joke

 **Sami:** You're brazil whenever we play

 **Mesut:** um???

 **Mesut:** don't you feel guilty blatantly lying???

 **Mesut:** i'm the federer of the table tennis world

 **Sami:** You can't even SERVE

 **Sami:** Anyway before you talk more shit I gtg

 **Sami:** Save it until we see each other in person

 **Sami:** See you soon ja?

 **Sami:** Love ya bro 

 **Mesut:** ugh fine i'm excercising restraint

 **Mesut:** see ya

 **Mesut:**  andlove ya too you goofy bitch

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im probably screaming into the void with my shipping of robert and jerome but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ also sami and mesut are unBELIEVABLE
> 
> warning: next chap, it'll be the beginning of the P L O T !! so if you're here for shitposting and chatting then, there'll be plenty to sustain you, but there's also plot!!! this international break will be like split into chaps im thinking but again: ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> hope you lovelies enjoyed the chap!!! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.1  
> part 2!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plot begins !! 
> 
> once more reality doesn't exist i don't care about the logistics of leroy and julian being able to play with miro EVERYTHING EXISTS AT ONCE TIME IS NOTHING

_Private chat between Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng_

**Robert:** Hey love!

 **Robert:** I've landed

 **Robert:** Can you call

 **Jerome:** yesss

_Incoming call from Robert Lewandowski._

Jerome swiped right on his phone excitedly, and he was greeted with a sight that caused something warm to bloom in his stomach: Robert's beaming face. Thomas, who was sitting next to him on the bench, leaned over Jerome and pressed his face against his phone screen.

"Get out of my sight, Muller," Robert said in tones of mock disgust. "You're ruining the view."

"I-"

" _Am_ the view, yeah, yeah," Jerome said, hitting Thomas gently and pushing him away from the screen. Thomas settled backwards, looking disgruntled. "Anyway, hey, baby! You're at the airport right now?"

"Yeah, I'm the only player here so far, everyone's coming from, well,  _everywhere,_ " Robert informed him. "What about you? Are the team all around?"

"No," Thomas answered glumly for Jerome. " _Miro_ isn't here, because he went to  _Stuttgart_ to see  _Mario._ "

Robert laughed, and Jerome wanted to reach through the screen and pull him back into Munich. "I don't blame him for trying to escape you, Muller."

"Hey!" Thomas pointed an accusing finger at Robert. "You watch your tongue, Lewandowski, or as  _vice captain_ of  _Bayern Munich_ -"

"You'll boss me around from the bench?"

"Ugh, you- _Ugh,_ " Thomas said eloquently, standing up dramatically. " _I,_ am going to my  _boyfriend._ Away from  _you._ "

"Auf wiedersehen!"

Thomas pressed his middle finger against the camera lens before flouncing off to where Manu was talking to Mats and Joshua. Robert's white teeth were still showing in a grin and he winked at Jerome, who once again felt that leap in his stomach.

"I miss you  _already,_ " Jerome said sullenly, pulling a face at Robert. "I can't believe we're not going to see each other for, well, a  _week._ "

"I know," Robert sighed, leaning backwards in his chair. "At least we'll have matches to take our mind off things, huh? Another international break where people will call out Lewandowski for not scoring for his country."

Jerome frowned at Robert's self-deprecating tone. "Hey, now, Rob, don't be stupid. You'll put them in the back of the net, I know you will. You're the captain and you've got nothing to prove."

"Ugh. Why can't every team be Wolfsburg?" Robert said cheekily, and Jerome rolled his eyes affectionately- Robert had more than earned his bragging rights with regards to scoring on that day- Jerome grinned to himself as he remembered the scenes afterwards- Pep's face was still engraved into his memory. "We've got matches versus Italy and Portugal... It's going to be a tough one."

"Hey, now. You know Italy aren't at all the team they were," Jerome said soothingly, for what felt like the hundredth time. Robert had paced around at home before leaving for the international break lamenting the state of Poland's calendar. Robert was incredibly confident, but when he was under scrutiny, he could lose some of his nerve. Jerome had been trying to comfort him for a while, but at this point he privately thought the only thing that had to happen was Robert had to face them and get the matches out of the way.

Robert was about to respond, but he was interrupted by a yell of delight. Jerome glanced up and saw what had caused the noise, and then he grinned widely. Lukas Podolski had arrived on the training ground, along with Mesut and Per, both of whom looked embarrassed and exasperated, and Leroy, who looked bemused- Lukas had dropped his bags and had raced towards Bastian without the slightest care in the world. Jerome turned his phone camera to show them colliding and hugging each other tightly, before pulling back and kissing. 

Robert burst out laughing. "Oh wow. We should count ourselves lucky we play on the same team, Jeri, we'd die if we were as far apart as they are."

"I'm dying right now," Jerome declared emphatically. 

Robert blew him a kiss, and then, grinning, he said, "I wonder how Mesut will react to seeing Sami again?"

Jerome guffawed. "Oh,  _wow,_ I forgot all about that. Obviously they'll rugby tackle each other and fuck on the spot, Rob."

" _Don't_ make it awkward for them," Robert implored. "They need to navigate love in their  _own_ way."

Jerome placed a hand on his chest in mock indignation. "It's not  _me_ you need to be scolding, Rob. These guys are out of control."

Robert gave Jerome a look. "You know you enjoy making fun of them."

"I'm only human," Jerome laughed. "Anyway, you don't have to worry about them, Fips would flay us alive if he found out we were interfering with them. He's issued a ban on it."

"Fips has the right idea,"  Robert sighed. 

"Boateng!" Jogi had strolled out along with his assistant coach, regarding the team with the air of someone readying himself for catastrophe- the German team all gave each other identical, evil grins. "Phone away until the briefing is over."

"It hasn't even  _started_ yet, nobody's here but Bayern and England!" Jerome protested, but he received a look that made him sigh in defeat. "You heard the man, Rob. I have to go."

"Aw..." Robert looked genuinely disappointed. "Well, we can talk later. Call me when you can, okay? I love you!"

"I love you too," Jerome said softly, blowing his boyfriend a kiss back, and stared sadly as Robert's smile disappeared from the screen. Mesut rolled his eyes as he thumped down beside Jerome on the bench.

"You two are disgusting," he said conversationally.

"Your face is disgusting," Jerome responded mildly, as the two shared a hug. "It's good to see you again. England treating you well?"

Mesut made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat. It was clear his attention was elsewhere- he was craning his neck and looking out at the distance. Jerome remembered Robert's words and valiantly managed not to smile.

"Looking for someone?" was all he said, innocently.

Looking surprised, Mesut glanced at him before blushing slightly. "Yeah. Sami. He said he was with Emre and on his way."

He jerked his head up, looking hopeful, as there was the sound of commotion signalling a new arrival- but it wasn't Sami and Emre. It was Marco, Mario Gotze, Julian Brandt and Weigl, Timo and Matze, accompanied by Jonas, Benni, Mario Gomez and Miro.

" _OPA!_ " yelled Thomas, and Miro smiled as, all animosity about his decision to go to Stuttgart first forgotten, the lanky forward ran to attack him in a hug. Jerome and Mesut grinned at each other before getting up from their bench to greet the rest of their team.

When they joined the huddle of players, Jerome exchanged Looks with Marco and Mario, who both in turn looked at Mesut, who was still looking out at the distance, past the embracing Mats and Benni. 

"This is going to be  _so_ fun," Marco muttered to Jerome, who sniggered, attracting Mesut's attention.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Jerome said simply, and when Mesut shrugged and turned to look out for Sami again, both he and Marco lapsed into silent giggles.

As Jogi walked up and down, checking his watch, evidently annoyed by Spain, France and Italy's lack of appearance, the team all had their catch-ups, all club rivalry forgotten, Fips and Per being harassed by Leon and Serge, Basti and Lukas murmuring into each other's ears, Joshua making fun of Mats and Benni, the Julians messing around with Leroy, Timo and Matze chatting cheerfully with Jonas, and Miro listening to Thomas talk his ear off while Manu and Mario Gomez sighed in exasperation. Mesut was the only one who stayed quiet, and then his face brightened.

 _There_ were the arrivals from Italy, Spain and France. Toni was grinning despite himself at the team, Marc-Andre looked downcast for some reason, Emre slightly shy, Julian Draxler grinning as Joshua ran out to meet him and Thilo rushing forwards to wrap up his friends in a hug. And Sami- well, Jerome thought to himself, covering his mouth to stop him from giggling- he had no eyes for anyone but Mesut.

"Oh,  _Gott._ " Marco and Mario both clung to each other, nearly hysterical with laughter as Sami strode straight past everyone else to hug Mesut. Out of the corner of his eyes, Jerome saw Fips stamping on Thomas's foot to stop him from making a comment. 

"Missed you," Mesut breathed, into Sami's shoulder, inhaling the scent of his cologne.

"Missed you too," was all Sami said, but he didn't need to say anymore. The two clung onto each other for a good while until they began to notice the giggling that had broken out around them- they let go of each other, both red in the face, but smiling nonetheless.

Toni made his way over to where Jerome, Marco and Mario were all acting like children. He hugged Jerome in greeting and then gave the couple a weird look. "What's so funny?"

Marco and Mario gasped in unison, which was slightly disconcerting. "Oh, my God, Toni doesn't know."

" _What_ don't I know?" Toni asked, puzzled. "Am I missing something here?"

"Oh, wow," Jerome said in awe. "You don't know about..."

He gestured subtly to where Sami and Mesut were standing with their shoulders pressed closely together. 

Toni made a face. "No... Is this about your stupid group chat?"

"Oh, God, just wait til you hear-"

They were interrupted by Jogi yelling, "RIGHT! Listen up! Are you barbarians listening-?"

There was a sudden unneccessary chorus of, "Yes, Jogi!", undoubtedly led by Thomas.

Jogi pinched the bridge of his nose. "I haven't missed this. I haven't missed this at all."

"C'mon, coach, is this the warm reunion you-" Thomas began, but he was cut off by Fips elbowing him and giving him a specialised captain stare that had Thomas grumbling discontentedly.

"Right, now I  _think_ I have your attention- Sane, Draxler, stop talking- we can start the briefing, now that everybody's here."

Toni was still looking at Jerome expectantly. Jerome gave him a grin and whispered, "Later." 

***

  _Private chat between Marc-Andre ter Stegen and Bernd Leno_

 **Marc-Andre:** I'm in MUNICH

 **Marc-Andre:** Where are YOU

 **Bernd:** up your ASSHOLE

 **Marc-Andre:** You're in LONDON

 **Marc-Andre:** Enjoy not PLAYING

 **Bernd:** why are you capitalising your last WORDS

 **Marc-Andre:** Because I want TO

 **Marc-Andre:** It's called EMPHASIS

 **Bernd:** emphasising the fact you're a DICK

 **Marc-Andre:** I'm still here and you're NOT

 **Bernd:** i don't want to be where you are ANYWAY

 **Bernd:** you're the WORST

 **Marc-Andre:** I'm better than YOU

 **Bernd:** you're not even going to PLAY

 **Bernd:** manu will be up for good REASON

 **Marc-Andre:** You're so MEAN

 **Bernd:** you started IT

 **Marc-Andre:** Well we're going to EAT

 **Bernd:** talk to you LATER

 **Marc-Andre:** Ok FINE

 **Bernd:** bye THEN

***

Following the team briefing for the first day of the international break, the team were released for the day and warned that training for their match versus the Netherlands would be intense. Instead of dividing into groups, they decided a team lunch was in order. Everyone was mostly happy about this, but some of the reunited couples looked a little sulky that instead of spending time with their significant other they were forced into a gathering with a group of rowdy fools.

"So, are you going to tell me what the hell you were saying before about Sami and Mesut?" Toni insisted to Jerome, attracting Thomas's attention- he barked with laughter, and once again, talked for Jerome.

"Oh, God, it's  _so_ funny," he said, almost hitting Manu with a forkful of pasta as he gesticulated wildly. "They're basically  _locked_ in the closet. They don't even realise it."

Toni looked very taken aback. " _Sami_ and  _Mesut?_ Really? I never noticed that from them."

"Because you're emotionally oblivious and don't pay attention to anything," Mats informed him. "It's as obvious as the fact that I'm the best centre back in the world. It's as obvious as the fact-"

"That you're actually a mediocre club traitor?" Marco said cheerfully. Mats set down his cutlery and lunged for him, but was held back by Benni, who rolled his eyes.

"Can you two manage not to be at each other's throats for  _one goddamn second?_ " he said exasperatedly. "Mats, sit down and eat your damn pasta."

Mats was still glaring at Marco as he lowered himself back into his seat. Marco popped a mouthful of salad into his mouth with the air of somebody who had succeeded in all his endeavours in life, said endeavours being trying to piss Mats off as much as possible. Toni tried to bring the conversation back on track.

"So you  _say_ they're in the closet," Toni said, looking like he was trying to work out a complex maths problem. "But... why? I mean, this team radiates gayness, why do they feel uncomfortable about  _theirs?_ "

"Ah," said Basti wisely. "You've hit the nail on the head."

"Have I?" Toni looked more perplexed by the second. "Are you sure they're not just... really close friends?"

"Toni," Manu sighed. "You're good at football, but you just don't get relationships."

"I just don't see it!" Toni protested, trying to defend his obliviousness. "I know  _you_ all are gay, don't I?"

He looked even more indignant and confused as his teammates all shared looks. Jerome took sympathy and slung an arm around his shoulder.

"Toni," he said indulgently. "Toni, Toni, Toni Kroos."

"Jerome, Jerome, Jerome Boateng?"

"Observe young Marco and Mario here," he said conspiratiorally, gesturing at said couple, who both posed and beamed as if in front of a camera. "They're gay, right? You can see it from a mile away."

Toni nodded solemnly.

"And Basti and Lukas. The gayest, do you agree?"

"Why, thank you," Lukas said, placing a hand on his heart, making Marco and Mario look offended.

"Yeah..."

"Now, observe young Sami and Mesut." Manu was cackling at the tone Jerome had taken, like the narrator of a wildlife show. He jerked his head towards the other end of the table, where Sami and Mesut were sitting together, their heads quite close together, laughing at something quietly. It was like nobody was around them- Mesut murmured something in Sami's ear, causing the taller man to double over with laughter, placing a hand on the small of Mesut's back- Mesut looked somewhat pleased with himself. "You can't honestly look at them and say you don't see the gay."

Toni looked like he was having a revelation. "Okay, I see it.  _Wow,_ that's obvious. I'm sorry for doubting you."

"It's alright, Toni," Thomas said, grinning. "You tend to think you know everything about your teammates when you've been with them for this long.

"That's  _really_ obvious, though," Toni said, shuddering. "That's kind of sickening. Have you guys hatched a plan to get them together?"

"We were  _going_ to," Benni said. "But Fips told us it would just ruin their friendship."

Toni shrugged. "He has a point. You're all annoying and sadistic."

"We're not  _sadistic,_ " Mario said. "We just want them to be  _happy._ "

"Well, if you want them to be happy, you'll keep your big noses out of it," Toni said briskly, assuming a businesslike demeanour, which Jerome thought was distinctly unfair as just a few minutes ago he hadn't even realised Mesut and Sami liked each other. "You hear that, Schweinsteiger?"

Lukas choked on his drink.

" _Hey!_ My nose isn't big!" Basti protested, 

"And you call me oblivious."

***

_Private chat between Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng_

**Jerome:** so toni

 **Jerome:** JUST REALISED

 **Jerome:** that toni and mesut are gay

 **Robert:** What?

 **Jerome:** lol sorry meant sami

 **Jerome:** it's late

 **Robert:** Serious question honey

 **Robert:** Is toni blind?

 **Jerome:** LOL 

 **Jerome:** he's extremely oblivious sometimes

 **Jerome:** but then i pointed them out and then it was like all the gears fell into place

 **Jerome:** it was funny

 **Robert:** Was it a slow look of dawning realisation

 **Jerome:** yep

 **Robert:** Ha

 **Robert:** Though I don't know how it took him so long

 **Jerome:** once a real madrid player, always a real madrid player

**Robert: Honestly.**

**Jerome:** real madrid more like

 **Jerome:** FAKE madrid

 **Robert:** Wow, good one, jeri

 **Robert:** How hard-hitting

 **Jerome:** shut up i'm tired

 **Jerome:** so i'm going to sleep now

 **Jerome:** miss you baby <33333333333333333333

 **Jerome:** talk tomorrow !!

 **Robert:** Of course

 **Robert:** Goodnight baby !!<33

 **Robert:** Miss you too

***

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Thomas:** so

 **Thomas:** is everyone ENJOYING their rooming arrangements?

 **Marco:** obviously

 **Thomas:** was i asking you?

 **Marco:** w h a t

 **Thomas:** pipe down gay

 **Marco:** you're LITERALLY gay too

 **Thomas:** i pose my question again

 **Thomas:** is everyone ENJOYING their rooming arrangements?

 **Jerome:** no

 **Toni:** Stop fucking pining it's for a week jerome

 **Jonas:** I like mine!

 **Miro:** They are good

 **Lukas:** you know we do ;)

 **Sami:** We always have the same rooming arrangements

 **Sami:** Why are you being a weirdo

**Thomas:**

**Thomas:** how dare you sir

 **Mesut:** you say it like thomas being a weirdo is out of the norm?

 **Sami:** Point taken

 **Thomas:** ARE you enjoying yourself sami?

 **Sami:** What the fuck

 **Sami:** What do you think me and Mes are doing in here? Fucking?

 **Mario Got:** well, you said it

 **Sami:** I'm not going to dignify any of you with a response

"What's  _wrong_ with them?" Sami said, from his bed. He had thrown his things onto the ground and had climbed into bed straight away, unable to be bothered with any doing anything else- he was tired as hell. 

"Too many headers," Mesut said wisely, turning off his phone. "They've lost a few brain cells over the years- it's science. I'm going to sleep now, Sam, are you going to start an argument with them?"

Sami sighed, looking down at the chat. "No. I can't be bothered to try and unpick their nonsense. I'm tired."

"Well, go to sleep, then," Mesut said, rolling his eyes. "We'll be facing more of their nonsense tomorrow, you need to have your wits about you."

"You're right." Sami tossed his phone onto his bedside table, settling into the hotel bed as Mesut flipped off the room's light. "Night, Mes.  It was nice seeing you today."

"You know it," Mesut said sleepily, getting under the covers. "Love you, bro."

"You too."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chap kinda bothers me for some reason??? i really don tknow what it is??? prolly cos it's mostly prose?? but i hope u all lovelies enjoyed it??? let me know if there's any problems with it??? 
> 
> btw im stupid and ive probably DEFINITELY forgotten players and i apologise if i forgot ur favourite ever player let me know and i will amend myself swiftly!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.1  
> part 3!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so happy everyone seemed to enjoy the last chapter!!! by everyone i mean the like 5 incredible people who just boost me forwards in writing this this is dedicated to you guys :)))) this is j like a couple training snapshots

The dining room was full of laughter and chatter when Mesut and Sami walked in that morning, but when people noticed their approach, the noise seemed to fade away, being replaced by badly suppressed snorts. Fips, who had been  _trying_ to ignore Leon's relentless taunts about those goddamn photos Lewandowski had taken during Oktoberfest (but was getting closer to the edge by the second), was glad of the opportunity granted to him to glare.  _Really._ Were the teams such degenerates that the mere  _sight_ of Mesut and Sami could reduce them to cackling schoolchildren?

Wait. Why was he even asking himself that question? 

Fortunately, Mesut and Sami didn't seem to notice the exponential increase in sniggering as they took seats by Toni and Jerome (the former looking exasperated, the latter trying very hard to look completely neutral)- either because they were used to the team's stupidity by now (and Fips shared the sentiment), or because, put bluntly, they were  _dumm wie Bohnenstroh._

"I'm fucking  _starving_ ," Mesut informed his friend, ignoring everyone else, reaching across Toni and getting some toast. "Do you want anything?"

"Yeah, grab me a sausage, will you, Mes?"

"Muller _,_ if you _dare_ make a smart comment," Fips intoned, giving Thomas the type of look that scorches, because Thomas was wearing an expression that spoke of _not keeping his damn mouth shut._ "Just let them  _be._ "

"One comment!" Thomas pleaded, as Mesut got up to get them some food, and Sami turned to talk to Leroy. "He was talking about  _sausages!_ "

"Leave it,Thommy," Manu advised in Fips' place, because the diminuitive captain looked as though he was about to burst a blood vessel in frustration. "Just contain yourself. Laugh inwardly."

Thomas looked as though he wanted to argue, but a distraction arrived in the shape of Jogi, who looked thoroughly disgruntled as per usual.

"Bad day?" Marco asked his coach cheerfully. "Or should I say bad night. 'Cause the day hasn't even _started_ yet and you're already pissed."

Marco received nothing but a withering look in response as Jogi pulled a chair out of the breakfast table, standing on it- he had tried in the past to gain the team's attention by  _diplomatic_ means, but over the years, he had realised that trying to be diplomatic with die Mannschaft was like trying to grab a raging bull by the horns. 

"OK!" Jogi attempted to call to order, and the attention of the table turned to him just as he had been hoping- but not for the reasons he wanted. The team all lapsed into giggles at the sight of their coach standing on a chair, with morning hair and an angry expression on his face. "Good morning, everybody-"

He broke off, sighing, as a superfluous chorus of " _Good morning, Jogi_ "s sounded across the room, and his hand returned to its natural position- pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Bist du fertig?" he asked sardonically, and Fips stepped on Thomas's foot for what felt like the hundredth time that morning to stop him from wasting any more time. "Alright, so. Today we're going to be starting our training for the two fixtures this week- we have France in three days for the Nations League game, and the friendly versus Russia three days after that. I don't care what your personal opinions are about the validity of the Nations League- I need to add to my list of trophies, so you  _will_ win, and you  _will_ train hard."

"At least he's straight to the point," Sami muttered to Mesut. "You agree with him, don't you, Mes?  _You_ definitely need to add some trophies to your record."

Mesut hit him. Jerome had heard Sami's comment and reached under the table to high-five him.

"We'll be starting off with stretches, and then the three mile run- not a  _word_ of complaint, or it'll be four- and then we'll be splitting off into personalised training sessions. The goalkeepers will be having their own training- Manuel, Ron-Robert and Marc-Andre-"

Manu shrugged, looking indifferent- he was used to training alone- Ron-Robert looked enthusiastic- and Marc-Andre looked strangely miserable.

"The rest of you will be doing your circuits and then we're going to be working on our set pieces. Understood- no, don't answer-"

But the damage was done. There was yet another superfluous chorus, this time saying, " _Yes, Jogi_ ".

Jogi sighed. "That... that was my fault. I want you all out on the training ground on  _time_ when breakfast is finished. If you're late you're picking up the equipment at the end."

_That_ was something they all took seriously, and so when breakfast was over, they all practically trampled over each other to get to the changing rooms on time.

***

Miro was  _sure_ that once upon a time he had been able to run a straight three miles without his body complaining. But as he jogged along with Basti and Lukas, who evidently didn't want to leave him behind in the dust like the rest of the team, his body was putting up a good fight about  _existing,_ let alone running.

"I'm getting old," he wheezed. He was genuinely quite  _offended_ at his body- he had always prided himself on his fitness, and he was always training hard, but now he was getting a stitch at one mile done. "I'm not sure how some people can willingly decide to make a career out of running."

"It seems pretty easy," Basti said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "I mean, you don't need any particular skill,all you need is perserverance and patience. I don't think a footballer could be a runner. We can run,but we can't  _run._ "

"Thanks for that insight, Basti, it'd be really annoying if you'd made sense, there _,_ " Lukas joked, as Miro shot Basti a puzzled look. "So we can run but we can't run? Are footballers in some weird Schrodinger's Cat reality of running?"

Basti gave Lukas a supremely unimpressed look. "You really need to understand the subtleties of emphasis. 'We can run', I didn't put emphasis on the 'run' there, because it's just normal running. 'We can't  _run_ ', I put emphasis on the 'run'  _there,_ because it's, like, next level running. Like,  _intense_ running. There's a difference."

"Why couldn't you just say, 'we can run for a warm-up, but we can't run professionally'?"

"Because... you can suck my dick?"

"You just convoluted  _everything_ you were saying."

"I didn't convolute  _anything,_ you're just too stupid to understand spoken language."

"You're too stupid to understand  _anything._ "

Miro regarded the couple with bemusement as they debated the subtleties of tonal choice and traded petty insults. "Are these... the sort of conversations you two have? Regularly?"

They both looked at Miro as if they had just realised he was there (they probably just had, Miro thought wistfully.  _Couples._ )

"Well, yeah," Basti said thoughtfully. "Most of our conversations consist of Lukas being an idiot."

"Most of our conversations also consist of Basti being  _annoying."_ Lukas gave his boyfriend a nasty look and received a pout in return. Lukas looked at Miro in amusement. "Why, what did you think we talked about?"

Miro considered this question. "Well... sex."

Basti threw his head back and laughed. "We're not that shallow! We have other conversations sometimes!"

"But I prefer the sex ones," Lukas said, grinning- and then, for reasons best known to himself, he smacked Basti's ass, causing the renowned midfielder to yelp and change his focus of mind from running to chasing after his boyfriend.

As Miro forlornly watched them run far ahead of him, yelling at eachother, he considered retirement. How much longer could he deal with such adolescant libido?

_You've been doing it for fifteen years,_ a small voice in his voice said in response.  _No need to retire over it._ _You know you'll be dealing with the gays forever anyway._

***

When the ball hit Marc-Andre squarely on the forehead, Manu knew it was time to intervene.

They had been doing very simple drills to warm up at first, whilst Ron-Robert trained with the goalkeeper coach, just shots at goal they needed to try and save. Manu could see that Marc-Andre was distracted, from the moment he had accidentally lobbed Manu's shot over the crossbar. He had restrained from commenting on it, thinking that it would probably just serve to embarrass the youth. 

Unfortunately, he just seemed to be becoming more erratic by the second. Manu sighed as the boy shouted apologies to anyone who would listen as he sprinted after the ball that had just bounced off of him, deciding it was time to intervene.

"Marc-Andre?" he asked diplomatically, when the Barcelona goalkeeper returned to the post, looking abashed. "Is something the matter?"

It was a simple question that received an almost comical reaction. Marc-Andre dropped the ball he was holding, turned scarlet, and stuttered out- "Something the matter?  _No!_ Of course not!"

Manu's arched eyebrow spoke for him. 

Marc-Andre wrung his hands together, pointedly avoiding Manu's gaze. "Really, nothing's the matter."

Manu's eyebrow inched higher. It was an expression he sometimes gave to his defenders when they made questionable choices and forced him to make a save. And it was  _inescapable._

With his soul having been forced out of his body and left to wilt under the force of Manu's judgement, Marc-Andre finally seemed to dissolve- it was like he had been punctured, he sagged like a deflating balloon. "Okay, it is something."

"I'm going to take a wild guess. It's a shot in the dark. My eyes are closed and I'm  _fumbling_ for an answer. I'm probably wildly wrong," Manu deadpanned. "But is it to do with a certain Bernd Leno?"

Marc-Andre gently turned his head away from Manu's shit-eating grin out of concern for the delicacy of his emotional health. "I don't know where you got  _that_ idea from, but it's probably best to, like, get rid of it."

"Oh, I told you, it was just a vague guess, calculated from years of observing petty complaining and sexual tension," Manu snorted, his lips stretching into a smile Thomas called his  _devilishly sexy_ smile. He was sure Marc-Andre wouldn't share the sentiment. "Come on. Are you really going to Mesut-and-Sami me about this?"

It was a mark of how notorious Mesut and Sami had become that Marc-Andre actually puffed up his chest in indignation at the comparison.

"I'm not Mesut-and-Sami-ing you!" he protested. "I was just saying, you're  _wrong!_ I mean, you're right about most things, like ways to go for a penalty and, and  _goalkeeping_ , but you're woefully wrong about what you said about a minute ago!"

"Then what is it?" Manu asked slyly. "If it  _is_ something and it isn't Bernd, you can tell me what it actually is, can't you?"

Marc-Andre suddenly became very interested in a strap on his keeper's gloves. "Oh, we've gone very off-track, haven't we, we'd better get moving before we get yelled at-"

"Marc-Andre..." Manu said ominously. "I warn you, my boyfriend is possibly the most interfering person on the planet, and my tongue just might  _slip_ about a certain crush-"

"Don't tell Thomas!" Marc-Andre said frantically. "Please don't, oh, my God, this is emotional blackmail!"

"I'm just concerned your situation might be impacting your goalkeeping ability!" Manu said innocently. He really had no intention of telling Thomas anything that was a secret, he was trustworthy, but he was enjoying the panicked expression on Marc-Andre's face. "You can tell me, you know, I don't tell people things."

"You  _just_ threatened to tell my secret to your interfering boyfriend!"

"Aha!" Manu laughed. "So you admit you  _do_ have a crush!"

" _No!_ "

"You just said I threatened to tell your secret! So you do have a secret! And that secret is your crush!"

"It was hypothetical!"

"MANUEL NEUER! MARC-ANDRE TER STEGEN!" Jogi bellowed at them from the other side of the pitch. "WILL YOU STOP TALKING AND DO SOME DAMN WORK!"

Marc-Andre jumped as though he had been shot and rushed off to the goalkeeper coach as soon as Ron-Robert returned, looking bemused. Manu cursed Jogi for somehow still having some influence over the younger ones.

"This isn't over, ter Stegen!" he yelled after Marc-Andre, who didn't look back. 

***

After a few hours of training, they were finally allowed to split for lunch, with Jogi drilling into their heads the  _importance_ of the Nations League. Sami and Mesut found each other through the crowd- they had split into groups to practice putting penalties past the three keepers. 

"I'm really losing my patience with him," Mesut muttered darkly after Jogi- the manager had yelled at Mesut for tying his shoelaces when Thomas had  _literally_ been the one to bend down and loosen them. "You'd think he didn't have the best squad in the world at his hands."

" _Best squad?_ " Sami chuckled. "You're pretty confident in us, aren't you? I think I saw Manu aim a tame shot at Marc-Andre that just bounced off of his head. Toni was right about this team having a real winning mentality, wasn't he?"

Mesut looked at Sami in disbelief. "We've won the World Cup! Or is that not enough for  _Mr_   _Juventus always wins the league?_ "

Sami rolled his eyes. "You really need to get over this insecurity complex you have about your club. If you really want to win something, why don't you tranfer, Mes, honestly. I can persuade Juve to do a little charity and take you in."

Mesut's fist connected with Sami's bulky shoulder. The central midfielder responded by slinging his arms around his friend and practically pulling him to the ground in a goofy hug. Mesut struggled against Sami's grip, determined not to let the idiot make him laugh, but eventually he conceded to the embrace, flinging his arms around Sami's shoulders and hugging him back. As Sami laughed his deep laugh and said something about Mesut always coming around eventually, Mesut thought,  _wow,_ he had really missed the feel of Sami's arms around him. 

He really was a great hugger.

"Seriously," Sami said, once the two had released each other, Mesut stumbling a little. "You should come to Juve, some day. You could play with  _good_ players, it'd be a new experience for you."

"What, players like you?" Mesut laughed.

"Yeah."

Mesut blinked. Sami didn't look self-assured or cocky at all. He wasn't even looking at Mesut- he was staring ahead as he walked, frowning slightly.

"Well, Sami, I hate to burst your bubble," Mesut said hurriedly, trying to pick up the ball that had just been dropped by his moment of confused silence. "But  _I_ have played with Cristiano Ronaldo, and  _you_ have played with the likes of, well- who?"

He blithely ignored the withering look he received in return.

"I know you don't respect decent football, so I'll ignore  _that_ comment," Sami said calmly. "But- well- wouldn't it be cool? If we played together?"

Mesut shrugged. "We  _do_ play together. For Deutschland."

"Well spotted! I meant for  _club,_  idiot." Sami wasn't looking at Mesut again, which was strange- he usually gave full eye contact when they were together. "You're saying you wouldn't want to play together?"

 "Of course I would," Mesut said in surprise. " _That's_ a stupid question. If I had the  _opportunity_ to play with you at club level, I'd take it in a heart beat. Always."

The frown on Sami's face lapsed into a smile, but instead of replying, he seized Mesut into another bear hug (which was more like an affectionate headlock), ruffling his hair as the two headed towards lunch. They didn't notice Jerome, Marco and Thomas trailing behind them, all three of them beside themselves with glee.

***

_Private chat between Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng_

**Jerome:** BABE

**Jerome:** FIRST OF ALL

**Jerome:** HEY 

**Jerome:** I LOVE YOU

**Jerome:** I MISS YOU

**Jerome:** AND I HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU!!!

**Robert:** I'm going to take a wild guess sweetheart

**Robert:** Is it about Mesut and Sami?

**Jerome:** first of all

**Jerome:** am i that predictable?

**Robert:** YOU'RE not predictable

**Robert:** I'm just assuming

**Robert:** As it's all of you together

**Robert:** And they're there

**Robert:** I'll be hearing a lot about this

**Jerome:** well you're right

**Jerome:** you WILL be

**Jerome:** anyway

**Jerome:** what was i saying

**Jerome:** oh yeah

**Jerome:** mesut and sami

**Jerome:** they werelike, hugging

**Robert:** They've reached that base already?

**Jerome:** stop being SARDONIC let me tell my story 

**Robert:** Sorry continue, they werelike, hugging, and...

**Jerome:** and sami was like

**Jerome:** making fun of arsenal

**Robert:** Who wouldn't

**Jerome:** that's what i was going to say!! :)

**Robert:** We finish each other's sentences!!!! :DDD

**Jerome:** STOP with the sardonicness rob i'm not feeling it :(

**Robert:** Sorry continue, so he was making fun of arsenal

**Jerome:** and then he said, maybe you should come to juve

**Robert:** Does he want Mesut to have a successful international club career?

**Jerome:** LOL

**Jerome:** he'd be content with winning a league at least

**Jerome:** OMG STOP SIDE TRACKING ME

**Robert:** SORRY CONTINUE, and then he said, maybe you should come to juve?

**Jerome:** and he said maybe u could play with good players

**Jerome:** and mesut said "what like you?"

**Jerome:** and sami got all serious and said yeah

**Jerome:** and mesut started panicking bc wow GAY and made a ronaldo comment i won't repeat

**Jerome:** because you hate ronaldo

**Robert:** Thank you baby.

**Jerome:** and then sami said but wouldn't it be cool if we played together?

**Jerome:** and mesut said (get ready for the gay)

**Robert:** I'm ready

**Jerome: "If I had the _opportunity_ to play with you at club level, I'd take it in a heart beat. Always."**

**Robert:** HAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

**Robert:** That's so football gay

**Robert:** "I want to play with you at club level" is like saying I want to be in a relationship with you

**Jerome:** ISN'T IT

**Jerome:** anyway

**Jerome:** i just had to update u

**Jerome:** i have to go back to training!!!!

**Jerome:** i loooooooooveee you hope your having fun

**Jerome:** talk later!!!!!!!!!

**Robert:** Keep me updated 

**Robert:** Talk to you in a bit <3 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry there's no bayern won the bundesliga and it's mostly prose!!!! there'll be group chat stupidity next time!!!!!!!
> 
> um.... i guess, let me know what you think, lovelies!!! i feel like this chapter was slightly clumsier, sorry, i'm EXHAUSTED :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.1  
> part 4!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im feeling rlly depressed right now :( and bayern is 2-1 up at rodinghausen as i type :( but no clean sheet :( so i thought, let me write this fic to cheer me up, even if its terrible! :)) love u guys by the way, ur comments super cheered me up :D

Mesut had to attend a physio check-up before he was allowed to go to dinner, and so Sami entered the dining room alone, feeling, for some reason, annoyed. He flopped down into a seat next to Marco and Mario, leaving a seat free for his friend- but it was promptly filled by Mats.

"Um?" Sami said, when Mats brightly ignored his expression of disbelief. "That seat isn't for you?"

"Why?" Mats said in a challenging sort of tone. "I don't see a name on it, so it's mine."

"I was  _saving_ it," Sami said irritably. "For someone I  _like._ "

" _Really?_ " Mario said, with interest. "And who would that person be?"

Sami looked from Marco and Mario's innocently enquiring expressions to Mats' raised eyebrow and dropped his head into his hands. "For  _Mes._ Who else?"

"Who else indeed," Julian Draxler said, as he, Joshua and Marc-Andre sat opposite them. "It's not like Sami could possibly have any friends  _other_ than Mesut."

"I'll correct that for you," Sami snorted. "It's not like this  _squad_ could have anyone else I could like."

"So Mesut is  _special_ ," Joshua said slyly.

Sami regarded the now sniggering players (barring Marc-Andre, who was stabbing moodily at a potato), with suspicion. "Yeah, he's special in that he's the only person in the squad who doesn't have fucking issues."

"Except Miro," Marco interjected, and the players all shared a sagely nod. Miro was the undisputed figurehead of the team.

"Yeah, except Miro," Sami said thoughtfully. "But  _he's_ not sitting next to me, so I'd rather it be Mes."

"Well, you snooze you lose," Mats said, shrugging, though the corners of his mouth were threatening to tip upwards, and Marco and Mario had turned firmly away so Sami wouldn't be able to see them giggling. " _I'm_ here now, you can deal with me, can't you?"

Blowing out an aggrieved gust of air, Sami settled back in his seat. He didn't know how long Mesut would take at the physio, so he guessed he was stuck in between Mats and Marco, who were  _bound_ to be annoying.  He sighed. He had been privately hoping to spend as much time with his friend as possible during the international break, because when else did they see each other, barring when they had the odd week off?

"What's wrong with you, Marc-Andre?" he asked, deciding to ignore Mats. "You're treating that potato like it just got a penalty past you."

"I've said it time and time again," Marco said wisely, before Marc-Andre could react to Sami's statement. "Pining. It's a bit like puberty. You get all moody and drag your feet around because you don't want to be around anybody.

Looking aghast, Marc-Andre covered his face with his hands. "What  _is_ it with everyone saying I'm pining? I'm not! I'm just minding my own business, over here!"

"Nobody else minds their own business in this team, Marc-Andre, you should've learned that long ago," Sami told him sympathetically. "Die Mannschaft enjoys their  _schadenfreude._ "

"Listen," Mario said, leaning forwards, a kind expression on his face (though Sami could clearly see the devious spark behind his eyes). "When Marco and I were but youths-"

"I'm  _older_ than you, Mario, why are you acting like you're an old veteran telling a folk story?" Marc-Andre said in bewilderment. Mario ignored him.

"We faced a slight wrinkle in our loving relationship that Mats will comment on in just one moment-" 

"He left Dortmund to go to Bayern." Mats fulfilled his destiny and Marco scowled deeply. "One of many. A  _worse_ leave than me, if I do say so myself-"

" _Don't_ say so," Marco intoned, gritting his teeth. It was lucky Sami was acting as a barrier between the two of them. Mario continued:

"Marco, suffice to say, was not  _particularly_ pleased. He said words, like-"

"Ah, fuck, I can't believe you've done this," Marco filled in for him. Sami reluctantly gave him the high-five that was admittedly deserved.

"And I said words like,  _it's for my career! I love you, but I have to do what's good for me!_ " Mario re-enacted, ignoring the high-five Marco tried to impose on him as well. "There was a lot of sulkiness. Mats told me-"

"He shot a goal at Roman, it got saved, and then he yelled,  _you'd better save_ Mario's,  _because he's not playing for us anymore!_ " Mats recalled with a wistful smile on his face. "Jurgen gave him  _such_ an unimpressed look."

Sami stopped Marco from hitting Mats  _just_ barely.

"So we fell out for a bit, and then Marco got knocked out of commission in the World Cup, and we realised how stupid we were being, and that it didn't matter about who played where or club politics or team dynamics, we loved each other, and now look at us!"

"Is there a point to this story?" Marc-Andre asked weakly.

"No, it's just an excuse for Marco and Mats to hit each other," Joshua chuckled.

"There  _is_ a point," Mario insisted. "The point is, we had that period when we yelled at each other on the phone and we were being childish, and now  _wir sind ein Herz und eine Seele!_ "

Marc-Andre looked as though he didn't quite understand what was going on. "But what does it have to do with  _me!_ Are you talking about Bernd too? I just don't understand what everyone's obsession with us is! We're rivals! Not boyfriends!"

Sami sighed, giving Marco a look that was strangely reciprocated with more giggling. "If you say so, kid, if you say so."

"I'm going to eat my  _potatoes,_ " Marc-Andre said emphatically. "And I'm going to talk to  _Julian_ and  _Joshua._ "

Julian and Joshua shrugged in unison (what was it with the gays and their ability to sync perfectly?). "Whatever you _want_."

Mario looked slightly disappointed by the less than enthusiastic reception to what he clearly thought would have been a motivating story.

"I thought that'd have a better effect," he whispered forlornly, as Marco squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "Like, I thought he'd go,  _oh, wow, I love him after all!_ "

 "Some people you just can't reach, they have to figure it out themselves," Sami muttered indifferently. "He'll work it out eventually. What? Why are you all looking at me like that?"

***

Aching, annoyed and absolutely ravenous, Mesut practically stomped out of Dr Muller-Wolfhart's office when his session was done. He wished that hamstrings didn't exist. What were they even good for? They were just a useless addition to your legs that got injured, meaning painful physio appointments while the doctor apologised but told him it was for his own good.

He entered the dining room with a murderous expression on his face, ignoring the various jokes about Arsenal that were shouted at him by his teammates (Poldi and Per looked miserable). He cast his gaze across the table, and then saw, with  _another_ pang of irritation, that Sami hadn't saved a seat for him. He was sitting in between Mats and Marco, who both pulled faces at him as he stared at them in disbelief.

"Sorry, Mes!" Sami called to him. "I told them I was saving a seat for you for you, but they're, well, dickheads."

An apt conclusion, Mesut thought, as Marco and Mats beamed at him. "Alright, then."

He turned around dramatically, looking for somewhere else to sit. There was a space next to Jonas and opposite Miro at the end of the table, by Basti and Lukas. He took it, making a disgruntled noise as he sat down, making eye contact with Sami who was wearing a genuinely apologetic expression and gesturing at his leg.  _Is it okay?_ he mouthed.

 _It's fine,_ Mesut mouthed back. Sami smiled at him, he grudgingly smiled back, and his grin stretched as Sami was suddenly trapped in a headlock by Marco and pulled backwards in his seat.

He turned to Jonas, who had always been shy, a bit like Mesut, but very nice. He was the easiest person to deal with on the team, Mesut liked him a lot. "I wish body parts didn't exist."

"Difficult physio session?" Jonas asked, smiling at him. Mesut nodded, rolling his eyes.

"I swear, Wolfhart bent my leg in ways it should  _not_ have been bent. I'm aching  _so_ _much_  right now."

"He's good at his job," Miro said from across Mesut. "But I always dread being told I have an appointment with him."

"Right?" Mesut said, diving into a bowl of noodles, shovelling it into his mouth with an almost indecent enthusiasm. "But I guess I have to be fighting fit for the match against France, Jogi isn't taking any chances with injuries. He's really into this Nations League."

"It's like he said," Miro said with a smile. "He wants to add to his trophy collection.  I'm not  _really_ opposed to the idea. I can add to my goal tally."

Jonas regarded Miro with something close to reverence. "You're so cool, Miro. 71 goals! Maybe you can hit one hundred one day, and you'll become even more of a- oh, wow!"

"What?" Mesut asked amusedly, because Jonas looked awestruck. The Koln player blushed as he realised that they were looking at him in confusion.

"Oh! Sorry, it just occurred to me- you've got  _71_ goals... and you scored your last international goal for Germany in a game where we won 7-1!" Jonas looked very excited by the information, and Mesut hid his smile in his noodles. It was quite adorable.

"Good spot,  _Junge,_ " Miro said with a soft smile. "Maybe I shouldn't add to my tally after all. Something wrong, Mesut?"

Mesut startled from where he had been staring at a point further up the table. He hastily stuffed his forkful of noodles into his mouth, blushing. "Y-Yeah, mir geht's gut, warum?"

 "You just looked distracted, is all," Miro said gently. 

Blushing more deeply, Mesut set down his fork rather more forcefully than he had intended to. Sami had just caught his eye across the room and had winked at him, rolling his eyes at his rowdy teammates around him. He wasn't  _sure_ why he had gone so red, there was absolutely nothing that had happened that merited his face growing so warm, and no reason for him to feel embarrassed at all-

"Yeah, I guess," he said finally. "I've just been thinking. About... about the Nations League. Yeah. The Nations League."

He practically drowned himself in his glass of apple juice, vaguely thinking of Iwobi as he did so, and trying very hard to ignore Miro's penetrating gaze, and Jonas's private smile.

***

_Private chat between Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng_

**Jerome:** has your training been going okay?

 **Robert:** I'll be honest with you

 **Robert:** Not really

 **Robert:** I don't know what it is Jeri

 **Robert:** We seem to just lack cohesion

 **Robert:** I'm not feeling anything click with our play

 **Jerome:** maybe you just need a game environment to really get your gears going

 **Jerome:** sometimes we act like complete fools in training

 **Jerome:** but in a game the pressure kicks in and we really focus

 **Robert:** Yeah but

 **Robert:** You guys are used to winning stuff, you can mess around, but you know what's important

 **Robert:** I assure you we are NOT

 **Robert:** I've not even played in a fucking world cup

 **Jerome:** look love

 **Jerome:** maybe in a match environment you'll be able to work out exactly what you want from your team

 **Jerome:** you just need to be pushed and realise that there are stakes

 **Jerome:** you in the collective sense not just you

 **Robert:** I know but I feel like we lack ambition, hope for a better future for the team

 **Robert:**  I just want us to move up in this league, I really want us to be something more than just another team in the world, you know?

 **Robert:** I want to win something

 **Robert:**  AndI don't want to be mocked

 **Robert:** Lewandowski, the man who's achieved nothing for his country

 **Jerome:** oh come on rob

 **Jerome:** you're the fucking top scorer!

 **Jerome:** and even if you guys don't win vs portugal, 

 **Jerome:** it's just the group stage of the nations league

 **Jerome:** does it really matter?

There was a moment of silence on Robert's end, and Jerome frowned down at his screen worriedly. And then he realised how tactless he had just been. Of course it was easy for  _him_ to say the Nations League didn't matter, he had won the World Cup. Robert hadn't. Robert wanted more from his country, he would feel the exact same way if he was in his boyfriend's position. Jerome was very competitive himself, he always felt awful upon losing, or feeling like he wasn't achieving anything. He suddenly felt very guilty, and hurriedly began to type.

 **Jerome:** i didn't mean it like that

 **Jerome:** of course it matters

 **Jerome:** i chose my words wrong

 **Jerome:** im sorry

 **Robert:** No it's fine baby

 **Robert:** I know what you mean, and I appreciate that you're trying to stop me from worrying, you don't need to apologise

 **Robert:** I just  don't think you understand it's different situations for us

 **Robert:** You're so talented, you've got one of the most talented teams in the world

 **Robert:** You have a reputation and you're driven to be the best

 **Robert:** I feel like we're stuck in the 'qualified' bracket

 **Robert:** We're good enough to get into these tournaments, but what else?

 **Jerome:** well

 **Jerome:** now's the time to find out

 **Jerome:** this new competition might be the best time for developing your country's growth

 **Jerome:** more competitive matches more regularly

 **Jerome:** finding out what you want

 **Jerome:** if anyone can make it better it's you, rob

 **Jerome:** and i'm still sorry i said that stupid thing about the nations league not mattering

 **Robert:** Listen baby it's fine 

 **Robert:** Thank you 

 **Robert:** And you're right, we can just look forward, there's still time for me as the captain

 **Jerome:** so much time !

 **Jerome:** it's not going to be an instant shot to the top

 **Jerome:** but you care so much that i know you'll put everything you've got into it

 **Jerome:** i believe in you so much baby

 **Robert:** Thank you baby :')))

 **Jerome:** i'll be watching ur game vs portugal along with the bayern gang

 **Jerome:** i spy with my little eye a man of the match award and a hattrick!

 **Robert:** DON'T JINX IT

 **Robert:** TOUCH WOOD

 **Jerome:** SHIT YOU'RE RIGHT

 ***

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Mats:**

**Mats:** thomas trying to exist without saying something stupid

 **Thomas:** mats

 **Thomas:** it's literally 4am

 **Thomas:** did you just wake up and think, let me drag thomas on the gc

 **Mats:** can't wake up if you don't sleep ! :(

 **Thomas:** that's even worse

 **Thomas:** even your insomnia-ridden thoughts involve roasting me

 **Thomas:** this team depresses me

**Mats: roasting thomas is existence in its base form.**

**Thomas:**

**Thomas:** i'm just here, minding my own business

 **Thomas:** and here i am getting abuse heaped upon me

 **Mats:** you never mind your own business

 **Mats:** why are you even awake?

 **Thomas:** i get bored by sleeping for too long

 **Thomas:** but manu is out til like, the afternoon

 **Toni:** I'd like you to know I fucking hate you both so much

 **Toni:** I was having a really nice dream that we won el clasico

 **Toni:** And the vibrations just woke me up

 **Thomas:** oh that's horrible

 **Thomas:** we ruined your once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to enjoy the feeling of a club win

 **Toni:** WE FUCKING KNOCKED YOU OUT OF THE FUCKING UCL

 **Toni:** I DON'T GET HOW YOU THINK YOU HAVE THE STATUS TO DRAG ME

**Mats:**

****

**Mats:** why don't you just turn your phone on silent

 **Toni:** Do you even know how inconvenient that is

 **Toni:** Just be normal people and fucking lseep at normal times

**Thomas: just suck my balls?**

**Marco:** why's everyone awake what's happening

 **Marco:** are we talking about something good

 **Toni:** When do they fucking ever talk about something good

 **Marco:** i can list a number of times

 **Marco:** they all involve dragging various people

 **Toni:** You've never dragged me

 **Toni:** Because you fucking CAN'T

 **Toni:** How'd you like them apples?

**Marco:**

**Marco:**  the refs dodging all the complaints about madrid being offside

 **Toni:** Listen

 **Toni:** It's too early for this

 **Marco:** go back to sleep then, pussy.

 **Marco:** i never thought i'd be defending bayern but here we are

 **Mats:** :)

 **Toni:** WE WON 3 IN A ROW

 **Toni:** HOW IS IT CHEATING

 **Toni:** YOU'RE JUST BAD

 **Sami:** OH MY GOD JUST GO TO SLEEP

 **Sami:** WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU ALL

 **Sami:** HOW ARE YOU DRAGGING EACH OTHER AT THIS TIME

 **Thomas: _i_**  can do it at any time of the day sami

 **Thomas:** day, night, afternoon

 **Thomas:** im a raumdeuter you see

 **Thomas:** finding pockets of space in a conversation where i can slip a drag in

**Sami:**

****

**Marco:** oh come on sami

 **Marco:** are you saying you didn't laugh

 **Marco:** i don't try and actively encourage thomas

 **Marco:** but that one was a good one

 **Sami:** Nothing Thomas says is good

 **Toni:** That's ALMOST what I said

 **Miro:** Hello

 **Miro:** It is early

 **Toni:** Yeah, we NOTICED

 **Mats:** the whole gang's in!

 **Marco:** i'm going to wake mario up

 **Thomas:** i would wake manu up but do i want to die? that's the real question

 **Toni:** Why are you acting like this is a party

 **Toni:** I came onto this to complain

 **Sami:** Same

 **Mats:** so why don't you GO toni and sami

 **Thomas:** because they secretly enjoy it!

 **Mario Got:** i can't believe this

 **Mario Got:** marco woke me up saying to check the gc

 **Mario Got:** i thought it'd be quality mesami content

 **Mario Got:** but it's just you all plotting to annoy everyone

 **Mario Got:** why wasn't i involved earlier?

 **Sami:** Quality what content?

 **Fips:** I HATE THIS TEAM.

 **Fips:** SO MUCH.

 **Basti:** what we all tlaking about here boys

 **Leroy:** look i'm always here for late night shittalking

 **Leroy:** but i'm slightly paranoid that if jogi catches us like, just shittalking instead of getting rested

 **Leroy:** he'll bench me

 **Thomas:** is this still even a fear for you

 **Thomas:** how many times do we have to drag you for you to realise you'll always be benched

**Leroy:**

****

**Mats:** anyway why would jogi catch us

 **Mats:** do u think he patrols the corridors?

 **Mats:** poking his head in to our rooms to see if we're fucking or whatever?

 **Marco:** what do u even think jogi is

 **Marco:** he's not a schoolteacher

 **Leroy:** he acts like one!

 **Julian D:** What, always disappointed in you?

**Mario Got:**

****

**Thomas:** jogi can't bench the REAL talent of the team

 **Thomas:** he acts like he has power over us

 **Thomas:** but, we're like nuclear weapons

 **Thomas:** you know?

 **Thomas:** like, someone has power on whether they use them

 **Thomas:** but that shit can blow up in their faces

 **Thomas:** so who really has the power? the weapons or the user?

 **Mats:**... what?

 **Toni:** Why are you trying to divulge meaning in what he says

 **Toni:** It's early morning rambling

 **Thomas:** its M.A.D actually

 **Thomas:** mutually assured destruction

 **Toni:** B.I.T.C.H

 **Thomas:** that? is not even clever

 **Miro:** I thought

 **Miro:** It was quite fgnny

 **Marco:** looks like the judge has delivered his verdict, huh, thomas?

 **Mario Got:** und das dicke Ende kommt noch

 **Thomas:** miro if you even say it i will

 **Miro:** Case Klosed  _#2_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know im probably annoying with my insecurity about my writing but OH GOD THIS CHAPTER FEELS ALL WRONG OMF IS IT JUST ME AM I BEING STUPID BUT IT JUST FEELS SO BAD AND UNFUNNY IM SORRY IM SO TIRED
> 
> love you all!!! there'll be a matchday soon!!! :)))))))


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.1  
> part 5!  
> pre-matchday!  
> germany vs france

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a pre-matchday (im such a goddamn tease sorry lmao i want more time to write the matchday!) chapter for you all! im apology for the angst i hope it's not a trouble for anyone looking for fun fun fun i promise this is 99% fluff and like 1% gratuitous angst... a fun fact about me, i've never written a comedy sort of story, they've usually all been super depressing and conceptual and im actually out of my comfort zone with this fic, but i'm enjoying it so much so it's not a problem! this intro was rambling wow bodes well for the chapter but hope yall enjoy!!!

 It usually took Thomas a while to get to sleep, mostly because his head was so full of energy that he spent more time thinking than trying to rest. It was a mark of how tired he was that he drifted off to sleep within the hour he had climbed into bed with Manu, not even thinking about the game tomorrow. All he registered was the warmth of Manu's arms and how soft the pillows were and how he wanted to die draped in hotel duvets before he slipped into a pleasurable unconsciousness.

But the respite did not last long. Thomas was roused suddenly from his slumber by a sharp cry that instantly set off every alarm bell in his body. He jerked upright in alarm, turning towards the source of the noise, immediately on alert even as he rubbed the lingering sleep from his eyes.

There was another agonised sound from beside him, and Thomas felt his heart clench. Manu was twisting fretfully this way and that across the silk bedsheets, his face contorted with fear and pouring with sweat. He was having a night terror. Thomas was well versed with dealing with this situation, but it didn't stop his chest from constricting as Manu curled into himself tightly, clutching tufts of his hair, mumbling something fearfully to himself in his sleep.

His boyfriend, despite his reputation as Germany's stoic, fearless wall, reacted to pressure differently to the rest of them. While he marched onto the pitch with his blue eyes cool and his stance composed, the stress wormed its way into his dreams. Nobody but Thomas would be able to comprehend the sight of the famed Manuel Neuer thrashing about and crying as he slept- intrusive thoughts proved to be his emotional downfall. Manu constantly apologised for waking Thomas up in the night, and being so affected by them, calling himself 'pathetic'- but the mere description of Manu's dreams had disturbed Thomas. He couldn't imagine experiencing them himself.

Thomas mentally told himself to get a grip and help his boyfriend instead of dithering about. He switched on the light in the room, and then he leaned forwards to where Manu was tightly wound into himself, radiating anxiety, and gently began stroking his boyfriend's head. "Baby... it's okay... you're safe..."

It was a delicate motion, but Manu still jolted awake as if he had been clubbed over the head. For a moment his blue eyes were blown wide with panic, but then he seemed to realise it was Thomas before him, and not some nightmare figure.

"It's okay," Thomas said softly, as Manu stared at him. "You're safe, Manu, you're safe. You're in the hotel room. I'm here. Just breathe."

Manu took several deep, ragged breaths. "Oh, Gott. Es tut mir leid, es tut mir leid, I'm so stupid."

" _No,_ " Thomas said insistently. "I don't want to hear any of that. You're not stupid. It's okay. You can't control it."

"I am," Manu said aggressively, covering his face with his hands. "It was just a stupid dream. And I woke you up. And it's the match tomorrow. I'm sorry-"

" _No!_ " Thomas repeated, taking Manu's hands and gently pulling them away from his face. "Manu, look at me. I don't give a good god damn about the match. I just want you to be okay.  _Are_ you okay?"

Manu gave a shaky nod, and then he dissolved into tears. "Oh, Gott. Nein. It was horrible, Thomas, that one was a horrible one..."

He trailed off, sobbing quietly, and Thomas inwardly cursed football's existence, for causing his boyfriend such anxiety. He draped his arms around Manu's neck, letting the goalkeeper bury his face into Thomas's chest, silently relieving himself of the accumulated stress. Thomas continued to mutter soothing nothings, squeezing Manu a little tighter as he felt how the man was shivering. It was times like this when Thomas really put things into perspective and remembered that things weren't the easy ride he wanted them to be. As much as he wanted to reach into Manu's head when the nightmares were happening and beat the fear away, he was helpless. And he hated feeling helpless.

Eventually, Manu seemed to settle down, going still against Thomas. Thomas thought he was asleep, until Manu pressed a kiss to his jaw. Thomas reciprocated exceedingly gently.

"Thank you, Thommy," Manu hiccoughed, his eyes still very red. "Just- thank you. I'm sorry."

"I told you, you big goofy coconut head," Thomas whispered. "There's nothing to be sorry for. This is what I'm here for, looking after you, heh? And you to me."

Manu shifted slightly so he was lying down again. "Always. I love you. All my dreams... They involve losing you somehow. Because the idea of that is what haunts me most."

"I'm right here," Thomas murmured back. "It'll take a hell of a lot for you to lose me that easily. I'm here to stay."

Manu made a noise of affirmation as Thomas shifted downwards so he was lying down too, his forehead pressed against Manu's. The light remained on, and it wasn't questioned. For several moments, Thomas lost himself in the sensation of Manu's warmth, of hearing his deep breathing that broke through the silence, staring at his beautiful, beautiful face. And then Manu's eyes opened, and he was suddenly met with contemplative blue.

"Thomas?"

"Hmm?" Thomas murmured.

"If you score a hattrick tomorrow," Manu mumbled. "I'll keep a clean sheet."

" _Naturlich, Schatz,_ " Thomas laughed. "You should be doing that anyway. But you have a deal."

Manu smiled and closed his eyes again, snuggling closer to Thomas, and went completely still after several more minutes- finally, it seemed, content.

***

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Mario Gom:** If I say something relating to my feelings right now

 **Mario Gom:** I'll get laughed at won't I

 **Marco:** it depends on various factors

 **Marco:** the context of your feelings

 **Marco:** how serious the feelings are

 **Marco:** and how the feelings are affecting the team

 **Fips:** That's actually a mature response, Marco, well done.

 **Fips:** No wait.

 **Fips:** This is the precursor to a horniness joke isn't it.

 **Marco:** i'll be honest with u fips

 **Marco:** the thought occurred to me

 **Marco:** but i decided against it

 **Marco:** so it's really you who made the horniness joke isn't it

 **Mats:** incredible

 **Mats:** the conversation was derailed before it even started

 **Mats:** not a single meaningful response to mario

 **Marco:** ok my response WAS meaningful you dick

 **Marco:** fips took the meaning out of it

 **Fips:** Listen. I have been on this fucking team since 2004. I had good reason to suspect a horniness joke.

 **Basti:** He really did

 **Benni:** Good job everyone, we broke the concept of healthily sharing emotions

 **Mesut:** did it ever exist?

 **Mario Gom:** Don't worry Benni

 **Mario Gom:** I was prepared for this eventuality

 **Mario Gom:** I'm going to go and bury my head in sand

 **Miro:** No stay

 **Miro:** Everybody no se

 **Miro:** No sex joke

 **Miro:** s

 **Miro:** Mario

 **Miro:** Tell us what is wrong

 **Thomas:** yeah everyone shut up

 **Thomas:** what's up

 **Thomas:** if anyone makes fun of u they'll answer to me

 **Mario Gom:** Ok now I'm self conscious

 **Mario Gom:** But I'm going to go for it

 **Mario Gom:** I'm fucking terrified for tomorrow

 **Jonas:** Why is that?

 **Mario Gom:** This is going to sound stupid

 **Mario Gom:** But... I'll just be blunt

 **Mario Gom:** I suck

 **Mario Gom:** I feel like I haven't done anything meaningful for us, and everyone's always critcising

 **Mario Gom:** And I know we like to make fun of each other's clubs, but Stuttgart literally HAS been doing garbage

 **Mario Gom:** And I'm old and I don't think I'll be able tokeep up that much longer in games

 **Mario Gom:** I'm just scared, I sound like a pussy, I know, laugh it up

 **Mario Gom:** But yeah, that's it, ich bin ein Angsthase :(

 **Mario Gom:** Go ahead and hit me with the mockery

 **Fips:** Oh Mario.

 **Fips:** What do you mean, you haven't done anything meaningful for us?

 **Fips:** You're an important part of this team.

 **Thomas:** you really are?

 **Thomas:** euros 2012???

 **Thomas:** 2016??

 **Marco:** look the fact im unanimously agreeing with thomas an fips should tell u that u ur valued and important

 **Marco:** it's ok to be nervous

 **Jerome:** literally the amount of times i've practically been terrified to step onto the pitch

 **Jerome:** it happens to lots of players, it's not being a pussy

 **Mats:** and criticism really gets to me, but you know what i do

 **Mats:** i put up a shield of obstinancy

 **Mats:** im the one on the pitch doing the playing, they aren't in my position

 **Mats:** the fact you're working this hard is enough

 **Mats:** are you playing football to satisfy others or yourself

 **Mario Got:** after 2014 my form dipped, didn't it? i didn't let it stop me

 **Mario Gom:** I wasn't expecting this wow I'm slightly overwhelmed and scared

 **Mario Gom:** What did you guys smoke after dinner?

 **Thomas:** love and affection

**Thomas:**

**Thomas:** we have your back mario??? always??

 **Miro:** And you say you are old

 **Miro:** But I am 36

 **Miro:** Which id older

 **Miro:** Don't worrt about bad form

 **Miro:** All you need is the desire to beat everyone

 **Miro:** I beat the goals recprd because 

 **Miro:** I needed to beat Ronaldo

 **Miro:** Even though I am old

 **Sami:** If you think about it, Miro's pride is why he's still here

 **Sami:** Which is weird, you'd think Miro'd  be the last person to be proud

 **Sami:** But hey, he's the record scorer

 **Sami:** Never say never Mario, there's always time

 **Mario Gom:** :')

 **Mario Gom:** Ok guys I'm? Smiling right now

 **Mario Gom:** :)))

 **Thomas:** let's all set up mario with a hattrick

 **Mesut:** sure

 **Mesut:** can i be the one who gives the world-class assist tho bc im getting some criticism atm too

 **Lukas:** ok but? i could do with a goal too

 **Lukas:** can me and mario share the hattrick

 **Julian D:** Then it isn't a hattrick you spoon

 **Lukas:** im unexpectedly hurt by that

 **Jonas:** Who says there has to be 1 hattrick? Hattrick for both of you! :)

 **Lukas:** ok that's a valid point

 **Lukas:** 2 hattricks

 **Thomas:** i think you should settle with a single goal Lukas

 **Thomas:** ill take the hattrick

 **Thomas:** i'm the top forward in this team

 **Thomas:** and the top attacking mid

**Toni: Guter Witz!**

**Thomas:** deiner MUTTER ist ein witz

 **Marco:** look we need an even distribution of goals here

 **Marco:** everyone knowsim world class so i'll give up the privilege and let someone else take the spotlight

 **Benni:** Mats is furiously typing right now

 **Mats:** i'll have u know benedikt i was going to ignore marco's narcissism there

 **Mats:** i was GOING to say that i'll score the honourary cb goal

 **Jerome:** lmao, a header?

 **Mario Gom:** After that show of team spirit I think we should avoid roasting

 **Mats:** im showing character development

 **Mats:** im just going to ignore

 **Leroy:** like you ignore the target?

 **Leroy:** sorry i never get to do the raosting i wanted to slip one in

 **Marco:** im so fuckign proud

 **Marco:** our leroy's growing up

 **Julian D:** How has he grown up

 **Julian D:** All he did was drag Mats

 **Marco:** exactly!

 **Marco:** the formative part of my life was my first mats drag

 **Marco:** it's character building stuff, roasting him

 **Benni:** I think there's literally a vein pulsing in his forehead

 **Mats:** i don't think so? i feel fine

**Marco:**

****

**Mario Gom:** I'm going to bring the conversation back on track

 **Mats:** do.

 **Mario Gom:** Thank you so much, guys

 **Mario Gom:** I just really needed to hear some of that

 **Mario Gom:** I'm glad that you all still believe in me

 **Basti:** of course we believe in u

 **Basti:** we might always act like we're at loggerheads but all we want for each other is success

 **Basti:** ok, i'm discounting mats and marco from that because i don't know if THEY want success for each other

 **Basti:** but everyone else is here for each other

 **Mario Gom:** :')

 **Miro:** Yes

 **Thomas:** how insightful, miro

 **Thomas:** but basti is correct :)

 **Basti:** but of course

 **Leroy:** guys im really HERE for this team togetherness

 **Leroy:** our chats may just consist of slagging each other off but inside we're like

 **Leroy:** a FAMILY

 **Toni:** Let's not get too hasty here

 **Toni:** And what does 'slagging off' mean

 **Mesut:** it's a british term for insulting

 **Toni:** Anyway yeah the sentiment of everyone being nice to Mario is nice, but

 **Toni:** There's still majority dickheadedness

 **Mats:** don't be miserable toni we need to preserve htis unity

 **Mats:** for the pitch tomorrow

 **Mats:** i put forward a motion

 **Mats:** the day before a match all roasting ceases

 **Mats:** how does that osund

 **Miro:** I agree

 **Benni:** Sounds good to me

 **Thomas:** that's a difficult one

 **Marco:** absolutely not

 **Marco:** a hard no from me

 **Leroy:** please

 **Julian D:** Good luck with that Mats

 **Marc-Andre:** Can we ban talking about like, relationships too

 **Lukas:** it's kind of funny how each of those responses perfectly characterises everyone

 **Lukas:** miro is nice, benni just can't be bothered to deal with mats whining, thomas is torn between his fundamental instincts of being annoying and supporting his teammates

 **Lukas:** marco is firmly against being civil, leroy is just desperate

 **Lukas:** julian is secretly a messy bitch who likes the drama, and marc-andre is just in denial

 **Thomas:** i'd protest but? you're kind of right

 **Benni:** Correct.

 **Miro:** :

 **Miro:** :)

 **Marco:** im firmly against being civil if im aware there are people who need to be dragged

**Marc-Andre:**

**Julian D:** You know what, Lukas,

 **Julian D:** You're not wrong.

**Leroy: if you were in my position, you'd be desperate too.**

**Mario Got:** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sd8PE2QK9-A

 **Mario Got:** leroy when jogi doesn't sub him on

 **Jerome:** there is no air in my lungs.

 **Marco:** fyuck

 **Marco:** fuckfeoing

 **Marco:** this is why i love you

 **Marco:** every possible timeline aligned to make the meme usage possible

 **Thomas:** leroy right now

**Thomas:**

****

**Leroy: God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (once again sorry for the unsolicited angst im slightly moody rn, its probably a tonal nightmare im sorry I SUCK SO MUCH ARGH)
> 
> as we hit chapter 10, i thought i'd say- wow!!! 10 chapters!!! it sounds like absolutely nothing, but to me it's fucking incredible because i've started so many fanfics and i've never written one that's gotten this far! and i have no intention of stopping! thank you so much for all your love, support and amazing, encouraging comments! love you all!
> 
> i think from now i'll dedicate every fifth chapter to a person!!! so ill start with fangirlsforever!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR EVERYTHING, YOUR LOVELY PERSON, YOUR COMMENTS ALWAYS MAKE ME GRIN AND YOU'RE REALLY ONE OF THE BEST HUMANS EVER!!
> 
> once again, hope you enjoyed the chapter, let me know what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.1  
> part 6!  
> MATCHDAY!  
> nations league- germany vs france

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok its finalllyyyyy here this is where i shift into a whole new style and write a match!!! its kind of daunting to be HONEST but a nice challenge hope you guys enjoy !! :))

_Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Robert Lewandowski_

**Robert:** I know you'll be busy

 **Robert:** So I just want to tell you now

 **Robert:** I'm rooting for you so hard baby

 **Robert:** Fucking annihilate them for me will you

 **Robert:** I love you so much Jeri! <33

 **Jerome:** fuckign fuck i love you more

 **Jerome:** im kind of nervous but im in that stage where i just need to get on the pitch

 **Robert:** I get it it'll be time soon

 **Robert:** I'll be watching before my match

 **Robert:** If you win I'll win

 **Robert:** Deal?

 **Jerome:** NATURLICH!!

 **Jerome:** oh yeah if i don't get time to say it later GOOD LUCK TO YOU TOO HONEY

 **Jerome:** if we were playing together t'd be so much easier wouldn't it

 **Robert:** 600%

 **Robert:** You make everything easier for me tbh

 **Robert:** But we can manage it anyway :)

 **Robert:** You're starting?

 **Jerome:** AHSHEHFURFHUF I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

 **Jerome:** and yeah me and mats

 **Jerome:** also leroy's starting omg

 **Jerome:** when we found out it was like kabadaboosh

 **Jerome:** the kids face

 **Robert:** Awww well he deserves his time

 **Jerome:** don't tell him i said it but yeah he does

 **Jerome:** so yeah, its me in the starting lineup, whew

 **Robert:** Good

 **Robert:** Make THEM fall on their asses

 **Jerome:** ok an uncalled for throwback to THAT incident we don't talk about it rob!

 **Robert:** It wasn't a roast it was motivating!

 **Jerome:** oh alright then i'll take it

**Robert:**

**Robert:** Go get them Jeri!

 **Jerome:** you fucking got it baby

**Jerome:**

 

***

Mesut was jumping up and down on the spot when Sami entered the changing room after the warm-ups. The expression on his friend's face was a mixture of bemusement and fondness, and Mesut didn't have time to explain how he was nervous as all hell, because Sami had converged on him and enveloped him in a hug, effectively silencing him.

Surprised but pleased by the sudden display of affection, Mesut reciprocated the hug, smiling against Sami's chest. The central midfielder held him close for several moments before releasing him, grinning. "Sorry. I just thought you needed a hug. You're looking a bit shit."

"Nice," Mesut groused at the slight on his personal appearance (he probably was a lot paler than usual). "And here I thought you had developed compassion for your teammates. Why are we the only people here?"

Sami seemed to realise they were alone in the dressing room, and he frowned in surprise. "Wait, you're right. Why  _are_ we here by ourselves? The idiots were just behind me."

"Do you think we shouldn't be here?" Mesut said somewhat nervously. "Did Jogi tell us to stay behind for a moment and we just didn't hear him? What if we're missing an important talk?"

"He didn't say anything," Sami said, peering around the empty room as if expecting his teammate to be hiding under the benches. "Wait, let me go and che-"

He was interrupted by a sudden roar from outside. " _WILL YOU IDIOTS GO INSIDE, WE HAVE A MATCH IN ONE HOUR!_ "

"Ah,  _there_ they are," Mesut said dryly, pulling off his shirt just as the rest of the team spilled inside the changing room, looking not the slightest bit abashed as Fips stormed in the lead, Thomas in fits of laughter about something behind him. "Probably just lagged behind to make stupid comments about something, huh?"

There was no reply from Sami. Mesut glanced at him, and realised Sami was pointedly rummaging through his kit, as if he was searching for something of vital importance rather than his shirt. Mesut made brief eye contact with Marco, who was, for some reason, scarlet in the face with laughter. Mesut, blinking in bewilderment, returned to pulling on his clothes, diverting his thoughts from Marco's howling to thinking about the match again. It was a tough fixture today. No matter how much the team joked, the Nations League would be a great thing to add to their list of achievements, and, privately, he really wanted to  _win_ something.

He turned to Sami just as the latter was shirtless, and blinked for some reason as he watched his friend's back muscles ripple. And then he shook his head to clear it, not sure why he was staring, and said, "God, it's always weird playing against Oli."

"Who?" Sami said, looking slightly disgruntled as he adjusted his jersey. Mesut stared at him in disbelief.

"Olivier!" he said, knowing that Sami knew who he was. "You  _know_ him, Sami, he's my literal teammate, how stupid you can get? Anyway, yeah, it's weird playing against him on the pitch, same with Laurent and Laca. I always get the urge to pass to him on the pitch, sometimes, too."

It was meant to be a joke, but Sami scowled a little.

"Hm," he said non-commitedly, doing up his laces. "You'll survive, you've scored against them before. Just remember that you're playing for  _us,_ ok, Mes?"

Mesut watched Sami's expression, which was now decidedly neutral, wondering if he was imagining the touch of impatience in his friend's voice. The midfielder was certainly making a show out of putting his socks on, pulling them up his legs swiftly. When he had put them up, however, he made eye contact with Mesut and grinned easily at him, and Mesut relaxed in the familiarity of the smile. He was getting really paranoid, recently, wasn't he?

As Mesut and Sami lapsed into small talk, Marco regaled Mario, Jerome and Toni with what he had just seen, their conversation going unnoticed amongst the chatter of the changing room. He was practically in tears, as he leant against Mario, only wearing one sock so far and struggling to talk between his laughter.

"I swear," Toni said, starting to get irritated by Marco's incomprehensible giggling. "This had better be  _really_ funny, Reus."

"It is!" Marco gasped, clutching Mario and shaking him as if to get him to understand just how funny what he had seen had been. "Mein  _Gott!_ Mesut- he took his shirt off while he was talking- and then I saw Sami staring at him- as if he was some sort of  _Greek God-_ "

He gesticulated wildly as he laughed, catching a passing Mats on the shoulder. Mats gave him a positively scorching look, which Marco responded to by hugging him, sobbing into his shoulder.

"What the- what's gotten into him?" Mats demanded, his arms flailing by his sides. "Why is he laughing so hard?"

" _Guess,_ " Toni said scathingly. "Mesut and Sami,  _again._ "

He probably had been expecting a shared exasperated look, but instead Mats suddenly looked delighted. "Shit, what happened, Marco?"

" _Ugh,_ why are you all so  _obsessed?_ " Toni moaned, but Jerome shushed him and gestured for Marco to continue his story, looking just as excited to hear.

"Sami was staring at a shirtless Mesut as if he was a Greek God," Mario filled in Mats as Marco was too caught up in his laughter to explain. "And then-"

"No, I want to explain!" Marco said, surfacing from Mats' shoulder. Mario rolled his eyes. "Me and Sami made eye contact after I had just watched him  _eye-fuck_ Mes, and then he turned literally the colour of Manu's shirt-"

He pointed at Manu, who was wearing his long-sleeved red attire and looked puzzled at being the object of scrutiny from the gathering of voyeuristic players.

"And then he dived into his kit to avoid looking at me- and then Mesut looked at me when he realised Sami had turned away-" Marco passed a hand over his eyes, shaking. "And then  _he_ watched Sami getting shirtless, and he literally made the white guy blinking meme face- the  _exact-_ "

Jerome barked with laughter. " _Both_ of them?"

"Both!" Marco said hysterically. "You don't understand, it's the funniest thing I've ever seen! Then he tried to change the subject and started talking about Giroud, about how it's weird playing against him, then Sami got  _jealous!_ He was like, 'just remember you're playing for  _us',_ and he tried to act like he didn't know who Giroud was! I  _can't!_ "

The group, including Toni, albeit grudgingly, roared with laughter.

"What's going on  _here?_ " Fips said, stalking up to them, a positively dangerous look creeping over his face. Mats hurried off to continue changing his clothes as the captain approached. "Why aren't you  _changed,_ Marco? Why are you laughing like an idiot?"

"It's about-"

"I don't want to hear it!" Fips said suddenly, holding a hand up. "Get dressed, quickly! We've got an important game literally in forty five minutes and you're still acting like fools!  _Unglaublich_!"

He stormed off, clearly in a towering temper. Fips tended to get moody before big matches, his captain's armband radiating energy and reminding them all he was their  _leader._ Marco, Jerome, Mario and Toni all giggled at the sight of the short man going off to shout some more at people. 

"Ah," Marco sighed wistfully, past the point of hysteria and now looking enlightened, wiping the tears from his face. "I think we should all offer thanks to whatever deity has lent us this entertainment, not many teams can be this privileged to see this amount of tomfoolery."

"True," Jerome said wisely, and then he assumed the voice of a pundit, placing a hand on his chest."We hope the closet gods eventually succeed in their endeavours of ejecting Sami Khedira and Mesut Ozil from their chamber."

"A-fucking-men," Mario said solemnly. For a moment the three players stood gazing dreamily into the distance, with Toni watching them in disbelief, before Fips yelled, "MARCO!" and the forward jumped like a bullet, hurrying to get dressed.

***

Jogi looked  _stressed_ as he stood before them, his face inexplicably pouring with sweat before he had even stepped on the pitch. It was a rather rare glimpse into the man's current mood- usually, on the pitch, he looked completely unreadable, even when a goal was zipped into the net. Thomas wondered if the Nations League really meant that much to him.

"Here we are," he said, wiping his brow. Thomas couldn't help but grin a little at the look of anxiety on his face- did he really have  _no_ faith in them? "We're about to face France. And we're all well aware of how strong a squad they have. Lloris between the sticks, Mbappe like a bullet, and that goddamn Antoine Griezmann- not to mention Kante, Pogba and the likes of their midfield and defence. We're in for a tough game. But you know what we have? We have a team that perserveres. We fight even through bad results. We have a most talented starting lineup-"

The praise was reacted to excessively- Thomas pretended to faint and there was an eruption of " _awws_ ", making Jogi look like he regretted existing.

"There's a  _reason_ you so rarely get any praise," he said ominously, and there were some melodramatic gasps. But everyone remained quiet to let him continue talking. The excitement a match brought was beginning to bloom between them, and Thomas felt slightly jittery. "But, what was I saying. We have a most talented starting lineup. We work as a unit. If the result doesn't go our way, we don't let frustration impede us. We continue onwards. No matter what happens today, we are still one of the most successful football nations out there and  _we will show them who we are._ "

"He's acting like this is a World Cup final. It's a fucking group game," Mats muttered, but he was shushed by Benni, who was watching Jogi carefully.

"It's a home game which means we're going to have to be  _more_ than impressive. We're going to show those fans what they came here for, what they always come here for. Understood?"

There were cheers of affirmation. Thomas stifled a giggle as he looked at Leroy, whose face was shining with determination- it was good that he was actually part of today's starting lineup, despite all the jokes. Marco was wearing his obnoxiously overconfident grin, but it was the one that made everyone else feel more confident as well. Manu, on the other hand, did not look particularly confident- his gaze was directed at the ground, and he was wearing a slight frown on his face.

Thomas slipped his hand in the crook of his boyfriend's elbow, giving him an encouraging smile. Manu's face relaxed and brightened and the two of them shared a private, affectionate look before returning their attention to Jogi.

" _Lass uns gehen,_ " Jogi said, and the team all erupted into cheers, ready, once again, to give it their all.

*** 

It was time to line up in the tunnel, and finally, the nervousness that had been building in Mesut leeched away, being dissolved by the sounds of cheering from outside, to be replaced by a familiar determination. He licked his lips, flexing his arms and legs, jumping up and down on the spot again just like Leroy was doing behind him. Marco was in front of him, chatting cheerfully to Thomas, who also looked completely at ease, while Manu adjusted the straps on his gloves.

Sami reached across the line to tap him on the shoulder. Mesut glanced back at him and grinned as he received a wink in return. Leroy, apparently thinking Mesut was smiling at him, gave him a radiant smile in return.

" _I'm fucking hyped up,_ " Leroy whispered to Mesut gleefully. "I'm starting! This is going to be amazing!"

"You deserve it, kid," Mesut responded, smiling softly. "Why don't you go out there and show Jogi why you should  _always_ be starting?"

Leroy nodded enthusiastically and bounced up and down, cracking his knuckles. He looked even more excited as the kids in their Germany shirts arrived, all looking slightly daunted by the sight of the team all in a state of advanced enthusiasm. Mesut smiled down at the little girl standing next to him, receiving a shy grin in return.

At that moment, France arrived, Hugo Lloris leading. Mesut watched the Spurs keeper, who he usually privately felt a bit of animosity for because he was part of his rivals' team, walk up with a small boy tripping after him. France were talking amongst each other just like Germany were, but when they saw teammates, they grinned and shouted out greetings. Olivier reached out to give Mesut a brief, one-armed hug as they lined up, muttering, " _Bonne chance, mon ami._ "

"Und du," Mesut said back, slapping his friend on the back and grinning. Marco turned back to look past his shoulder, and then turned away again, whispering something in Thomas's ear, the two of them silently cackling. Mesut glanced back to see what they were laughing at and made brief eye contact with Sami, who turned almost instantly to talk with Jerome. 

Mesut turned to face the front again when Sami did not look at him again, frowning thoughtfully at nothing.

***

Stepping out onto the pitch from the tunnel was like suddenly hearing several cannons go off at once. Sami winced a little but grinned at the same time as the roars of the crowd grew exponentially louder as the teams moved onto the pitch. He was proud of his country's supporters, who were all leaping up and down and punching the air. The level of enthusiasm for football shown in Germany was unrivalled, he felt. The cheers bouncing around the stadium elevated his spirits the louder they got.

As the national anthem started for the home side, Sami let his eyes wander, travelling inexplicably to the French players. For some reason, he found himself watching Olivier Giroud, who was shifting somewhat restlessly as the German players sang the anthem out of tune, Thomas winking horribly at the camera as it passed. The man was so effortlessly stylish even when he was doing nothing but fidgeting. Sami scowled and looked away.  _Attractiveness_ wouldn't win the game. He had stupid hair, anyway. It was like a gelled up wall. He was sure that if he touched it it would feel like touching a rock-

"Sami!" Jerome hissed, elbowing him in the side. Sami glanced at him in surprise, suddenly realising his thoughts had strayed well off the beaten path they usually took during a match into a weird paroxysm of annoyance. He realised France had already started their anthem. "You're not even on this world, are you?"

"I am," Sami muttered stubbornly. "I was just thinking about something. Anyway, they're just singing, I'm not obligated to listen-"

Jerome gave him a sly look. "Yeah, you're too busy _glaring._ You're eyeing Giroud like you want to kill him."

"What? I don't care about Giroud," Sami said irritably. "The only reason I'd be glaring at him is because I'm sizing up how best to get the ball off him."

"Just don't get a red going after him," Jerome joked, grinning, but then the smile slid off his face. France had just won the kickoff flip. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

Sami had returned his gaze to Giroud, who was now doing a last-minute stretch, before scowling even more deeply. He wasn't even entirely sure why the man's existence was suddenly one of the most annoying things on the planet for him, but it was a good thing, he guessed. He was now even more motivated to beat them.

"In position," Fips hissed at them, as they made their way to their side of the pitch, by the home side, who cheered. "Come on,  _Jungen,_ wir konnen dieses gewinnen."

Sami cracked his knuckles, glaring at the opposition, who were looking equally determined.  _Damn_ right they could. They  _would._

***

The starting whistle blew, and play began  _slowly._ A France player zipped the ball backwards in a pass that seemed to take an age to reach Lloris. It was the tentative starting moments, where players segued from the outside world into the separate reality that was football. Manu took deep breaths as he stood alone in his box, watching everything unfold before him with his unlimited view of the pitch.  For some reason, the sharp clarity he usually viewed the game with hadn't come to him yet. He was feeling  _shaky._

It was a feeling he was wholly unused to. He was used to having the single-minded approach to games, reacting when the ball came close or the opposition streaked up to the box, anticipating when to rush off of his line to intercept an attacker, or otherwise watching his teammates' movements carefully. The crowd usually felt so far away during match time. Now he was almost hyperaware of the home fans behind him, eagerly awaiting a  _great Manuel Neuer save._

He shook his head, punching the crossbar, probably attracting bemused looks from the fans behind him.  _Now was not the time._ He was going to have to combat this- this  _stress_  by making a fucking good save. And now it looked like the opportunity was coming towards him in the form of Antoine Griezmann, who had managed to streak ahead-

But there was Mats with a neat interception, and Germany were in possession. Manu relaxed slightly, stepping backwards as he watched Mats pass to Mesut, who weaved and passed in the midfield to Thomas, who had managed to appear out of thin air in a pocket of space where N'Golo Kante hadn't seen him. His eyes followed Thomas's more careful run towards France's box, and his breath caught in his throat as Marco sprinted ahead, one arm raised towards Thomas. Thomas chipped the ball towards Marco,  _Marco was in position-_

But Benjamin Pavard reacted, claiming the pass. Manu saw Thomas throw his hand up in a brief display of annoyance but he returned his pursuit of the ball. Pavard had passed to Kante, who in turn had passed to Giroud, who sent a long ball towards Mbappe, who was waiting to receive service. There was a threat. It was almost incredible how quickly Mbappe moved with the ball in tow, but they had Leroy. Leroy had enough pace to pressure the Frenchman, whose face contorted with frustration as he tried to get past, but Leroy put up a fight and soon he had the ball-

And away he went, like a moped, sprinting down the pitch. Manu grinned to himself as Leroy initiated a  _sublime_ pass to Toni, who in turn passed to Marco.  _They were drawing near!_ Mesut was running up the right wing- Marco passed to him just as Varane converged upon him- the French defenders were in the box, growing bigger- Marco got past Varane-  _Mesut passed back-_ _Marco took the shot-_

And put it wide. There was a great  _ooh_ of disappointment from the home end, but also a great deal of applause for the superb run. Despite Marco's frustrated stance, he also was gently applauding what had been a decent effort. Manu, while feeling a little put-out by the miss, felt that if Germany kept playing like that, they were  _bound_ to score soon.

Meanwhile, there was a definite sense of grumpiness around the technical area. Sitting on the bench was always a little annoying, but it became a  _lot_ annoying when Lukas Podolski was sitting next to you. Miro had tolerated his complaints for years, but they were particularly animated today. Basti had given up trying to console him, just sighing whenever Poldi yelled out something in annoyance- and Miro shared the sentiment.

"COME ON!" Lukas bellowed, making Leon jump in front of him. "THAT'S A YELLOW!"

Miro sighed again. He was sure he would start hyperventilating in this match for the amount of times he had done it so far. "He's got one, Lukas, don't worry yourself. Look, Marco's fine, see?"

Marco had indeed gotten back to his feet after a clumsy challenge from Hernandez, who was raising his hands as if he didn't understand why he had been booked. Miro wondered vaguely if he was aware of the rules of the game. Overly aggressive sliding tackles tended to be looked down upon.

"I would've done it better," Benni muttered, sitting backwards in his seat with his arms folded. Miro didn't doubt it. Benni was most impressive with the standing and sliding tackles. "No class from these defenders these days."

Fips showed them an example of what class Benni was talking about with an inch-perfect challenge against Mbappe, who looked furious as the ball was taken from him. The nineteen year old reacted most impressively, however- his focus instantly changed from getting forward to Fips. Fips passed to Jonas, who passed back to Manu, who hadn't had much to do yet, who passed again to Fips who this time found a way to get forwards.

Fips passed to Sami, who had a momentary spark of vision with some fantastic dribbling around Kante. Miro's eyebrows raised, impressed, and he could tell that Jogi was surprised by it too. 

"I'll tell you why he did that," Lukas giggled, leaning forwards. "He caught sight of Mesut. All he could think was,  _I need to get to him."_

Miro couldn't help but laugh at that- indeed, Sami's dribbling resulted into a pass to Mesut. Their teamwork was very impressive indeed. Mesut showed his class as usual by filling any space he could, letting Leroy take the ball and rocket ahead. 

"Shit, if he doesn't bury one," Basti said urgently, as the whole team sat bolt upright. The French defenders had now formed a wall, covering Marco, Toni, Sami and Mesut. Mats had sprinted ahead, though, and he took the pass from Leroy. In some sort of twist of fate, Mats crossed the ball to Marco, who had broken free-

"GO ON, BABY!" Mario yelled, suddenly on his feet, eyes bright and burning, and the whole team followed. "DO IT! GET ONE!"

Marco brought his foot down and sent the ball hurtling towards the net in a volley-

Lloris dived-

But it hit the back of the net! The team erupted into cheers as Mario was beside himself, yelling hoarsely in delight as Marco celebrated, with the team all rushing to hug him. Mats, who had inexplicably gotten the assist, looked slightly dazed as he and Marco hugged.

"I never thought I'd see the day," Benni said in awe. " _Mats_ and  _Marco_ combined to make a goal happen."

"It'll be difficult for them to get a fight out of  _that_ display," Miro chuckled, as the team sat down, delirious at their lead within the first half-hour of the match. "That was a good one. He more than made up for the last wide shot."

"Damn right he did," Mario said proudly, looking as though Marco had followed in his stead and scored the winner in the World Cup final.

The game was  _far_ from over, it had only just begun. France, perhaps buoyed into action by Germany's goal, pressed forwards. Jerome managed to seize the ball in a great tackle from an approaching Griezmann in order to deliver his classic, penetrating diagonal pass, but there was nobody there to receive it. Lukas swore with great volume and expression as Basti sympathetically patted his shoulder. Mbappe had received Jerome's pass. The defenders rushed into place, but the rocket just managed to get past Fips and Jonas. Jerome tried a sliding tackle, but he  _just_ missed. The whole team were on their feet, along with the French bench, as Mbappe took a powerful shot-

"NEUER THE WALL!" Joshua yelled, as the team cheered. Manu had anticipated the shot correctly and had dived to catch it, in a very good save. There was almost relief on Manu's face as he scooped up the ball, but he assumed a neutral mask as he threw the ball to Jonas. Miro himself felt relieved for him, hopefully he continued making saves of the like to remove some of the recent scrutiny around him.

"That was so good," Marc-Andre said appreciatively, and there were nods of agreement.

Germany fortunately recovered from their brief defensive lapse and made their way forwards again. Time was ticking by to half time, what would be better than to up their lead by another and be more secure? There was a chance in a Toni maneuver that got Thomas to the net, but Lloris this time reacted with a save. 

"Close, though," Benni said, and there were noises of disappointment. It  _had_ been close.

The half-time whistle blew before Germany could build upon some of their recent runs. Everyone was in good spirits as they returned into the changing rooms, though none of them were overconfident. A 1-0 lead, while still a lead, was not secure enough- there was every chance France could get back into the game.

Jogi said as much as he regarded them in the dressing room-

"Right, so, obviously, I'm pleased with our performance. You've made good runs and you've managed to score one. But I don't want us to feel  _overly_ proud. There were still some chances that should have been buried, so I want more of an emphasis on clinical finishing. Defenders, you've done well with interceptions, but Jerome's pass should never have been claimed by Mbappe. Overall, though, if we keep playing like this, I don't see why we shouldn't score more."

There were affirmative whoops. Mario was still clinging to Marco, kissing him as if his life depended on it. Jogi deigned not to comment, knowing by this point it was unpreventable.

Thomas sidled up to Manu, who was staring somewhat vaguely into the distance, and nudged him. "You did so well, Manu. That was a really great save."

"Thanks," Manu whispered back, smiling softly, squeezing Thomas's hanc. "Clean so far."

"Let's keep it that way," Thomas murmured back.

Jerome was cracking his knuckles, his jaw set. He wondered if Robert had watched him on the pitch, if he was drawing encouragement from seeing Jerome play. Jerome knew that he often find it reassuring to watch Robert play. Maybe, if they could keep this lead up, the good play would leak into Poland's performance too. He was so absorbed in thinking about this that he didn't notice Mesut and Sami standing by each other, conversing in low voices.

" _That_ was some dribbling out there, Sami," Mesut told him, grinning. "I've never seen you with such footwork before. What was motivating you?"

Sami made a non-committal noise in his throat, deciding that it would be untoward to tell Mesut that the sight of his Arsenal teammate Giroud had filled him with enough spite to suddenly turn into Hazard. "I felt inspired. It happens, once in a while."

"Oh, really? What did you see?" Mesut asked cheekily. Sami cleared his throat noisily and shrugged pointedly.

"Is talent really that hard to believe for you?" he asked, feeling that directing a roast at Mesut would take the heat off him. Just as he had been anticipating, he received a punch in the side.

After spending some time getting their affairs in order, it was finally time for the second half to start. The team all lined up, with a change being made- Marco was coming off for Mario Gomez (the man looked utterly anxious) because he had complained of a twinge in his thigh, and they didn't want to risk anything. Otherwise the team remained unchanged for the second half, with Leroy looking like he couldn't believe his luck as if he hadn't imagined being able to play  _both_ halves.

France's lineup, like Germany's, had one change after half-time, with Lacazette coming on the pitch (Mesut and him spent several moments frivorously winking at each other when they saw each other), and Griezmann being on the bench.  But the rest of the team remained the same, they had switched formations, however, going into a 442, clearly to protect themselves from further goals.

When the whistle blew, play started off just as slowly as it had in the first half, but the fans in the stand still chanted as if they were watching end to end football. A drum was banging in the crowd, and the players seemed to start moving to the rhythm. From the bench, Miro tapped his thigh, thinking to himself. The game had been great so far. Were they about to see more?

France were currently in possession, but the press was effective enough to stop them from breaking forwards.  Eventually, Leroy, bless him, stole the ball off of Lacazette and charged towards goal. But the idea of scoring within a few minutes of the second half was too good to be true, and Lloris made another save. This time Germany had to stop France. Jerome came to save the day, intercepting Mbappe and getting things back on track.

"Wonder if Robert's watching him?" Basti asked thoughtfully, as the team silently thanked him for existing and Sami took the ball. "I know Jerome watches all of Robert's international game."

"Of course he does," Leon said, rolling his eyes. "They're obsessed with each other. They're so in love, they can't stand to be apart."

"I think it's cute," Basti declared. "It's like me and Lukas. Whenever we're apart-"

"You get piney and annoying?" Joshua enquired. Basti scowled.

"No, we get more  _in love._ "

"Yeah, but," Leon said. "Not that I want to praise you two, but you're more impressive than Jerome and Lewy. You can handle Lukas being in London all the time, but Jerome and Robert get all mopey when they're apart for a damn  _week._ It's sickening."

"They care about each other," Mario said, shrugging, Marco lying with his head in his lap. "It's better being grossly over the top than thoroughly in denial."

"Speaking of denial, it's racing down the pitch," Miro pointed out, and the team's attention was withdrawn from their gossip towards Mesut and Sami, who were indeed charging towards the goal, Mario, Thomas and Toni following. They all, leapt to their feet, chanting, " _JA! JA! JA!"_ as Mesut passed to Sami for a shot on goal. He shot-  _but it hit the post-_

" _Gott verdammt!_ " Lukas yelled, but Miro remained jumping up and down, because Mario Gomez had caught the rebound, he chested it, and then he swung his foot- 

And scored! There were roars of delight, and Mario, looking delighted and faintly shocked, was crushed in the midst of a huge team hug. Jogi was actually pumping his fist in the air, and the team all cheered Mario's name. Mesut and Sami both gave Mario a hug, but it was nothing compared to the hug they gave it each other. Sami threw his arms around Mesut and the two remained in a tight embrace, with the team all dancing around Mario, who was grinning bashfully but happily.

"What on  _Earth_ are they doing?" Lukas asked, as Mesut and Sami separated. "It wasn't even Sami's goal or Mesut's assist-"

"They got the ball up there, stop complaining, let them love it up," Basti scolded, nudging Lukas gently. "And now we're two up! We should have this in the bag!"

"Spoke too goddamn soon," Leon said, and suddenly everyone was on high alert. France weren't going to take a second goal conceded lightly and they were pouncing towards Germany's goal. " _Shit,_ they're going to score, Basti, aren't they, this is why  _we don't jinx things- I DON'T BELIEVE IT!"_

Manu had punched away the ball shot at goal, and had hastily returned to counter yet another shot taken in the space of a second, making a superb double save. But that wasn't the least of it. Mbappe's two efforts had failed, but Lacazette was there for another shot- he shot a blisteringly powerful ball that was sure to go in, but Manu reacted blindingly fast and  _headed_ the ball away from goal, and finally  _caught_ the last ball that was aimed at his chest. In the space of a few moments, Manu had just saved four shots on target. Mbappe and Lacazette looked on in disbelief, and the team were all yelling for  _their_ Manu. Moreover, Manu had just thrown the ball out for Mesut to take, and they were back in possession, sprinting along, and this time Sami was by him again, and was it  _really_ going to be a-

"HATTRICK!" Lukas yelled, in transports of delight. "THE LOVEBIRDS DID IT!"

Germany had just scored two in the space of around five minutes, and what goals they were! Torn between laughter and delight at the way Mesut and Sami celebrated, by throwing their arms around each other and practically pulling each other onto the ground in a hug, the fans all went insane with joy. The game was truly theirs! They were three up!

There was no chance for the rest of the game. Inspired by their three goals, from Marco and Mario and Sami individually, the team kept up a fighting effort until the last minute. Substitutions of Julian and Niklas took place, and when Jerome and Toni came to the bench, they were grinning like idiots.

"I can't believe Mesut and Sami were the ones who did it, what the fuck," Jerome said, after he received several hugs. "God, the way they were hugging each other! That was  _amazing._ "

"It's love!" Lukas said gleefully. "It makes you a better player! That's why we're the best team in the world! We're all in love with each other! We're _so gay!_ "

As the fulltime whistle blew and the Germany bench rushed to celebrate with their team, with Sami and Mesut never taking their eyes off of each other, it was clear that Lukas's conclusion was one that couldn't be argued with. 

***

_Private chat between Olivier Giroud and Mesut Ozil_

**Olivier:** Felicitations mon ami

 **Olivier:** C'etait un bon jeu

 **Olivier:** I'm glad you and Sami got to collaborate for a goal

 **Mesut:** thanks man!!

 **Mesut:** yeah that was the best moment

 **Mesut:** assisting your best friend to a 3-0? doesn't get much better than that

 **Olivier:** Thank you for your sensitivity, Mesut

 **Olivier:** Why don't you just replay footage from all three of your goals to make it easier?

 **Mesut:**... my bad

 **Mesut:** i mean, sorry, you guys were great, better luck next time

 **Olivier:** Tu es un dickhead

 **Olivier:** But really, I'm happy for you 

 **Olivier:** You never told me you and Sami actually went for it though

 **Mesut:** went for what?

 **Olivier:** Your relationship?

 **Olivier:** I would've thought you would've told me about it

 **Mesut:** WHAT?

 **Mesut:** ME and SAMI?

 **Mesut:** LMAOOO

 **Mesut:** you think we're together i cannot

 **Mesut:** we're friends oli honestly

 **Mesut:** i know die mannschaft is super gay but we aren't lol

 **Mesut:** tho i get where u might get the idea from

 **Olivier:** You're not gay?

 **Mesut:** no lol

 **Mesut:** anyway if i was gonna be gay with someone it wouldn't be with THAT big idiot

 **Olivier:** So I got the wrong end of the stick there?

 **Mesut:** you did indeed

 **Mesut:** i'm literally laughing

 **Mesut:** i can't believe you thought we were dating

 **Mesut:** i'm telling sami that

**Mesut:**

**Olivier:**

**Olivier:** I thought my gaydar was undefeated

 **Mesut:** well, it's met its match

 **Mesut:** youre such a weirdo

 **Mesut:** you know that if i was anything id tell u stupid

 **Mesut:** now i gtg the team all want to celebrate the win

 **Mesut:** i mean... we want to solemnly talk about our respect for france or whatever

 **Mesut:** bye loser

**Olivier:**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lineup-
> 
> manu  
> jerome  
> mats  
> fips  
> jonas  
> sami  
> mesut  
> leroy  
> toni  
> thomas  
> marco
> 
> bayern fucking DEPRESS me so it was nice writing a victory
> 
> im a little (joke a lot) self conscious about this chap as per usual when its a change in style, its too prosey and quite long and badly paced, so let me know what you think so i can make improvements 4 the next matchday??!!!
> 
> hope yall enjoyed!!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.1  
> part 7!  
> poland vs portugal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoiler alert- this is majority jerome/lewy in this chapter. just inject me with the made up version of their relationship in this fic. it makes me SO happy.... tho its a bit angsty here. this is a shorter, worse chapter than the last im sorry next oen will be like 66000 times better
> 
> hope you guys enjoy anyway!!!

As Robert watched the final whistle blow, and saw Die Mannschaft celebrating their performance, he felt something strange combine with his overwhelming pride for his Jeri-  _anxiety._

His usual cool confidence leading up to games had been replaced by a real nervousness ever since he had woken up this morning. He would have thought watching Jerome confidently handling the defence, and watching his teammates from Bayern putting in a good effort on the pitch, would have soothed his nerves and given him the motivation to give a similar performance later today. Now all he was thinking was:  _I can't do that._

He didn't want to doubt his teammates. But there was only one way to describe Poland's recent training sessions-  _not enough._ And that, funnily enough, wasn't enough to give him confidence for later. They were facing a strong Portugal side, the current European champions, with Cristiano fucking Ronaldo in the lineup. He privately thought that winning this match would be a huge obstacle. He cracked his knuckles nervously, knowing that soon they would have to head to the stadium for the pre-match preparations. How was he going to do this? Where was he going to summon up the resolve from? Was unearned confidence enough? It _did_ work for Marco...

Then, suddenly and inexplicably, it came to him, just as he saw a sweaty but grinning Jerome standing before the camera for the post-match interview. Robert's heart seemed to expand in his chest as  _his_ Jeri,  _his_ love, listened to the interviewer speak, breathing heavily, looking  _beautiful_ with the burn of victory in those brown eyes he knew so well. He had never wanted to kiss the man more, but he was miles away, trapped behind the screen.

" _Gut gemacht,_ Jerome Boateng. That was a very promising match, with your side keeping a clean sheet and scoring three impressive goals," the interviewer said, sounding pleased. "What were your thoughts on the game?"

"Thank you," Jerome mumbled, smiling shyly at the interviewer. It was a little strange- when he was with those he knew he was exuberant and confident, with those he didn't he was rather quiet. "We're extremely pleased with the result. We weren't at all overconfident coming into this game, we were very aware of the talent France boasts, and we knew it would be a difficult challenge. It makes the victory even sweeter. Overall... a difficult obstacle we managed to surpass."

"Yes, well, the team certainly looked in form today, with Manuel Neuer in particular attracting a lot of attention for his quadruple-save in the seventieth minute. What were your thoughts on your national and Bayern teammate's performance?" 

Jerome's face brightened. "We were ecstatic with Manu's performance. Facing strikers like Lacazette and Mbappe is no mean feat, and the shots they gave him, we were sure one would go in. But he kept us safe, like he has done a lot of times. Hopefully... hopefully that will take some of the recent criticism away from him."

Robert knew what Jerome was talking about. People were very reactionary, tending to look at statistics rather than the actual performance of the goalkeeper. Manu had been faced with some impossible shots to stop, and had been in very good condition for club, yet people didn't realise it- just as Jerome had said, hopefully the criticism would go away now.

When the interview was over, Robert  _almost_ reached out to Jerome as he bid goodbye to the interviewer and set off, out of sight of the camera. He felt a strange sense of loss as he saw the empty space where his boyfriend had just been, but also a new sense of hope inside of him. He wanted to see the pride he was currently feeling in Jerome's eyes later on when they saw each other again. He wanted Jerome to be watching  _his_ victorious post-match interview, taking comfort from seeing him. Smiling to himself, he stopped cracking his knuckles and instead rubbed them determinedly together, alight with the fervour he usually felt when standing with Jerome in the locker room after a victory. _Why_ was he being so nervous, constantly in doubt? Poland _would_ do enough,and so would he, if it was the last thing he did. He would do it because it was his duty- to himself, to his country, and to his Jeri.

***

"I'm still buzzing," Marco declared to the team, as they finally finished joking around and making fun of France (Miro had tried to gently scold them and remind them not to get overconfident, but they had just  _won,_ and it was difficult to dampen the team's ego even in losses) and got to getting dressed. "That game was like, was like a  _drug._ I scored, Mario scored, Sami scored, Manu was a  _god-_ "

Blushing but grinning all the same, Manu took a melodramatic bow to great applause. 

"Seriously," Jonas said admiringly, his shirt around his neck. "That quadruple save was one of the most amazing goalkeeper maneuvers I've ever seen."

"Well, what do you expect?" Manu said, gesturing at himself flamboyantly but giving himself away by going redder. He didn't have the same knack for comfortable narcissism like Marco did, he looked as though he wanted to apologise for it. "But thanks, Jonas, I definitely didn't wake up this morning thinking  _that_ was going to happen. Honestly, I thought it was going to go so much worse."

"And look at you now, _Schatz,_ " Thomas said proudly, kissing his boyfriend. "Clean sheet and  _that!_ That'll shut people up!"

"I think I should be getting more credit," Mesut declared. "My assist to Sami was Michael-worthy.  _More_ than that. It was Mesut-worthy. Sami wouldn't be on the score sheet without  _this_ assist magician here."

Sami grinned, yanking Mesut into a headlock-slash-hug and ruffling his hair, earning a squawk that was more chicken than human, as everyone carefully avoided each other's gazes (Marco and Mario were the weak links- Marco had to stuff his knuckles in his mouth after a half- glance at his boyfriend). "You have my sincerest thanks, Mes. But, as always, I was still better than you. Did nobody notice my dribbling? Because I did."

"Yeah, we were wondering," Jerome said mischievously. "What brought that out in you, eh? You looked like you were trying to spite somebody. Angriest dribbling I've ever seen."

With a most awkward expression, Sami shrugged. "You and Mesut, asking the same question. It was  _all me._ No faith in me, honestly."

Mesut laughed, elbowing his friend in the side. "Not grateful to me? I've _always_ been your number one fan."

This was too much for Marco, who suddenly grabbed Mario by the neck and kissed him to bury the sound of his laughter. Mesut and Sami stared at them in disbelief, as Jerome gave a sustained, high pitched giggle which turned into a severe coughing fit. Thomas was displaying  _remarkable_ restraint, possibly because Fips was giving him an acidic look,  _daring_ him to laugh and attract any more attention to their strange behaviour.

"That was a weird time to kiss," Sami said, eyes narrowed at Marco and Mario, who had separated, Marco facing away from everyone and leaning into Mario, who was patting his back sympathetically. Miro highly suspected that Marco was silently crying with mirth. 

"You should be used to it by now," Mesut said impatiently. "Honestly, you're all disgusting. I bet Jerome and Lewy will be doing  _more_ when the break's over. What time's his game?"

Glad that Sami and Mesut weren't continuing their behaviour that was  _extremely_ difficult not to laugh at, Jerome enthusiastically jumped at the question. "He's playing in three hours. Everyone is watching that game, by the way, we're cheering my baby on."

Marco surfaced from Mario, highly red in the face and suspiciously red-eyed due to his tears of laughter,  but looking indignant. "I think not. Why do I want to watch your  _stupid_ boyfriend play?"

"Because you're going to support him and watch him get his hattrick and Man of the Match award," Jerome said ominously. "That's why."

His tone dared them to argue, but nobody tried to- Marco attempted to, but Mario elbowed him, knowing that Jerome would veto it. He wanted to support Robert, he held no objections to it, though Marco was  _still_ touchy about anything related to the subject of Dortmund players going to Bayern. Everyone dissolved into chatter, pulling on their clothes, having been very distracted by their post-match bragging and Mesut-and-Sami-mocking endeavours. Said players were already dressed, Sami sitting on the bench, staring thoughtfully into space, which was most unusual for him, when did he ever  _think?_

"What's the matter with you, big boy? What's on your mind?" Mesut asked, nudging his friend gently on the shoulder. Sami made a face at him.

"Nothing," he said delicately, in a tone that suggested it was _everything_. "Just... certain things."

"Well then it's not nothing, is it?" Mesut said impatiently. "Is something bothering you?"

" _No,_ " Sami sighed. "It's literally nothing important, just..."

He gave the game away by throwing a cursory glance at Marco, who was muttering to Toni and Jerome, the former of which rolling his eyes and the latter giggling uncontrollably. In the last second, Jerome's eyes flickered up and met his. Mesut followed his gaze and sighed.

"You're  _still_ worried about their behaviour. Honestly, at this point I don't know what to tell you, you're paranoid. You're worse than me, just before the match I thought you were mad at me for talking about Olivier," Mesut laughed. "When will you realise that  _this team is full of idiots-_ barring Miro of course."

The man had just passed by with his bag slung across his shoulder. He gave Mesut a shrug, as if to say,  _what can you do,_ which Mesut reciprocated with a shrug that somehow managed to eloquently express years of exasperation with the morons he loved like brothers.

"Yeah," Sami said absent-mindedly, still aware of the three in his peripheral vision. "You're right. Just idiots."

***

_Private chat between Marc-Andre ter Stegen and Bernd Leno_

**Bernd:** hey asshole

 **Bernd:** i was watching the match

 **Bernd:** well done

 **Bernd:** the team did better without u

 **Marc-Andre:** Yeah, because they knew you weren't there

 **Marc-Andre:** It filled them with relief, knowing that they were protected by a good keeper

 **Bernd:** that was too long and stupid to be effective

 **Bernd:** just like the time it takes you to react to a shot

 **Marc-Andre:** The time it takes me to react to a shot

 **Marc-Andre:** Is the amount of time it takes Jogi to pick between me and you

 **Marc-Andre:** I.e instantly

 **Bernd:** ok

 **Bernd:** that was a good one

 **Marc-Andre:** It was wasn't it

 **Marc-Andre:** I split it up so it wouldn't be too wordy

 **Bernd:** an effective roast

 **Bernd:** 10/10 for content, 8/10 for execution

 **Marc-Andre:** It should be full marks for both you biased scumbag

 **Marc-Andre:** What have you been doing then

 **Marc-Andre:** Dickface

 **Bernd:** i've been, like, existing

 **Bernd:** and like, enjoying my position as a starting keeper

 **Marc-Andre:** That doesn't even make any sense

 **Marc-Andre:** I start at Barca

 **Marc-Andre:** So I'm still a starting keeper anyway

 **Marc-Andre:** You're not even here so you're even worse than me

 **Bernd:** YOU KNOW WHAT TER STEGEN

 **Bernd:** YOU KNOW WHAT

 **Bernd:** JUST LET ME GET A ROAST IN

 **Bernd:** FOR ONCE

 **Marc-Andre:** WHY WOULD I EVEN DO THAT WHAT DO I GAIN

 **Marc-Andre:** JUST ACCEPT YOU'LL NEVER WIN THIS THING

 **Bernd:** I WILL

 **Bernd:** I AM WINNING

 **Bernd:** NOBODY LIKES U

 **Bernd:** OK

 **Bernd:** FUR DIR HABE ICH NICHTS ÜBRIG

 **Marc-Andre:** UND ICH FÜR DICH

 **Bernd:** I'M GOING

 **Bernd:** BYE

 **Marc-Andre:** GO THEN

 **Bernd:** I AM

 **Marc-Andre:** I KNOW YOU ARE

 **Bernd:** STOP REPLYING TO ME

 **Marc-Andre:** WHY ARE YOU REPLYING TO ME

 **Bernd:** I'M NOT ANYMORE

 **Bernd:** FINAL BYE

 **Marc-Andre:** BYE

***

When they returned to the team hotel, where they would spend the night before making their travels to Westfalenstadion for the second home game of the international break, they were all incomprehensibly still full of energy. Jogi, who had ceased from scolding because, well, they  _had_ won the game very impressively, was on the verge of a nervous collapse when they finally exited the bus. Thomas had led the team in a rowdy medley of songs throughout the entire journey back to the hotel, and their coach had received three mock marriage proposals already. Post-victory Die Mannschaft were slightly more of a nightmare than regular Die Mannschaft. With confidence pumped into them and a clean sheet, they were unstoppable.

Instead of doing what he hoped they would do and resting, they all practically ricocheted off of the walls, with Jerome yelling at them that they all had to be in the team's common room to watch the Poland versus Portugal match. Perhaps a normal coach wouldn't have had to ask near thirty year olds to not injure themselves horsing them around, but such was the job of the Germany coach.

Jerome was practically bouncing up and down with excitement as he hastily shot off last minute good luck messages to Robert, who would probably be preparing right this instant. Toni, who was sitting on his bed with a magazine in his hands, sighed as his friend enthusiastically sent a video of himself yelling, " _Viel Glück, Schatz!_ "

" _Seriously,_ he's Lewandowski, what do you think he's going to do, get a red and score nothing?" Toni sighed. "You really have no faith in him."

"I  _do_ have faith in him," Jerome said indignantly. "It's just me showing my  _love_ and  _support,_ is that such a difficult concept to understand for you?"

"Yes," Toni said flatly. "'Love and support' is for losers."

"Explains Madrid," Jerome bit back.

Toni sighed. 

Half an hour for the match, the team congregated in the common room, being shepherded in by Bayern players- Marco was complaining loudly, but most of the others looked interested to see what the game would bring. It was good to evaluate international competition, and a game with Ronaldo in it tended to attract more attention, to Jerome's resentment. Hopefully, though, Robert would show them what it meant to be a  _good_ striker, though he didn't voice this sentiment aloud, for fear he would jinx it- although, what if he had already?

Surreptitiously touching the wood of the floorboards beneath him, Jerome settled down on a sofa, as the rest of the team gathered around, talking amongst themselves. They usually spent time here anyway, to watch games or just mess around. Thomas and Manu sat on either side of Jerome, Toni was sitting by Marco and Mario, Miro by Fips, Basti and Poldi, Mesut and Sami huddled up on the floor. The rest of the Bayern lot had formed a sort of cinema-like viewing in front of the TV, with the others either on their phones or staring at the pre-match events.

Jerome licked his lips nervously, taking a Snapchat photo of the Poland match and debating whether he should put it on his story with a good luck message. He tapped out a message, saying, " _Viel Glück, mein Freund!_ " and sent it off to his story. Right now it was mostly pundit conversations, and nothing was happening.

"He'll be fine," Thomas said, nudging Jerome, when it became apparent Jerome was nervous. "You're being silly. You know Robert has things in the bag, he's got the biggest cheerleader egging him on..."

Jerome gave a faint smile back, but kept his eyes focused on the screen. Now the teams were lining up. He craned his neck slightly trying to spot Robert out of the group- putting his glasses on to get a better view. The camera rolled down Portugal first, practically caressing Ronaldo's face when it passed him, making everyone roar with laughter.

"But that'll be the only time it focuses on him this match, 'cause Robert's going to knock it out of the park!" Joshua yelled, to affirmative cheers from Bayern, and a disinterested grunt from Marco, who was clearly suppressing his snarky comments for Jerome's sake.

Finally, it was time for the game to start. Jerome's heart was thumping as the teams got into position.  _Come on, Rob!_ he thought.  _I'm here, baby, and I'm watching you!_

The whistle blew. Poland kicked off. And so began the some of the most torturous ninety minutes in Jerome's life.

The best thing Jerome could say about the game was that Robert was trying _so_ hard. He was pressing forwards whenever he could, trying to make runs up to the box, but he was consistently being thwarted. When Portugal got the ball into their final third, he put his heart and soul into trying to defend. Three times, to Jerome's relief, he managed to steal the ball back from the Portuguese strikers, doing his defence's job for them. There were cheers from the team as Robert zipped the ball in good passes, receiving them and dribbling around the defence to the best of his ability.

But there was just no escaping the fact that Poland looked disjointed. Multiple times in the first ten minutes Jerome's heart had practically leaped out of his throat because they had given the ball away. Portugal, like it or not, were clearly the most dominant side. They were practically living inside of Poland's box, with Szczęsny being another one of the few bright spots- he had made three saves so far, to appreciative murmurs from the team.  He wasn't quick enough, however, to stop an incoming Ronaldo. Jerome swore very loudly as the Portuguese managed to sink a ball into the top corner of the net, upping the scoreline already.  _What_ had the defenders been doing?

But he didn't lose hope. It was only a one-goal lead, and there was Robert, running down the pitch, and everyone was avidly watching him, even Marco, who seemed a little wistful at his former teammate's control over the ball. Milik was right by him, and it seemed they had gotten past the defence- everyone cheered, but Milik's foot didn't reach the pass. Jerome's head was in his hands as Robert's potential assist fizzled into nothingness just like the momentum, and the ball went out for a goal kick.

He held his head even more tightly when the long ball from Patricio was received by that fucking bastard Ronaldo, who maneuvered straight past the defenders as if they didn't exist. He shook his head wordlessly as the hated striker shot hard at goal, Szczęsny diving and  _so nearly_ reaching the ball, but missing just by milimetres. There were groans and Jerome squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see Robert staring at the ground, looking as though somebody had slapped him. 

Two goals (a brace for that bastard Ronaldo) having gone by in the first half, and the pundits were talking about Lewandowski’s commendable effort- but Jerome knew it wouldn’t be enough for his boyfriend, who looked utterly dejected as the whistle blew.

"Robert had some good moves," Mesut offered Jerome, who was still holding his head as the pundits talked. "It's not over. There's still another forty five minutes where Poland can shape themselves up. Two goals isn't that strong of a lead. Lewy will score soon."

Jerome nodded vaguely. "Yeah. He will. He'll score."

Thomas slapped Jerome on the shoulder. "You know it. He always does."

Marco nodded. "Yeah, he's pulled batshit crazy strokes of inspiration out of his ass, remember Wolfsburg? Don't rule out a Polish return."

It was perhaps  _Marco's_ encouragement that made Jerome take his hands away from his head and nod.

The second half started, and Jerome thought, maybe, _maybe_ his teammates were right. Almost right away, Poland had managed to work forwards, with a shot that missed the target but was a shot nonetheless. Jerome practically flew out of his seat when Robert was shoved over in the box, in one of the other few breaks that Poland had made through Portugal’s defenders.

“It’s alright, he’s not hurt!” Thomas said gently, when the camera cut to Robert getting up, looking disgruntled, and the referee jogging up to give the yellow card and blowing his whistle to signal a penalty. “It's a penalty! Look, he’s going to put this one away, and that was a promising run, there’s a chance they can come back from this, 2-1, huh?"

 _Hope wasn't lost!_ Jerome’s heart thudded in his chest as Robert stood a few yards behind the ball, his face a neutral mask but with anxiety in those blue eyes he knew so well, eyes that he had known full of the flames of victory, but now looked incredibly uncertain. Manu rested a hand on Jerome’s shoulder and Sami gave him a reassuring smile as Robert prepared to take his penalty, Jerome waited for his boyfriend to sink it in-

“Scheiße!” Jerome shouted furiously, smacking his head, as Robert swiftly chipped his ball into the left corner but was prevented by Patricio, who dived in an admittedly very impressive reaction save. The camera cut to Robert’s face, which he was covering with his hands- when he removed them, he looked disbelieving and angry.

“Ah,” Thomas said, looking uncomfortable, as play resumed and Patricio got high-fives from his team. “It happens… That was a good save…”

As time went by, Robert was starting to get more aggressive, Jerome could see he was angry by the penalty miss- such an event could be disastrous for the focus. At seventy minutes in, he collided with Ruben Dias in his pursuit for the ball, causing the Portuguese to drop to the ground and a yellow card to be received. It was a clumsy, worrying challenge, and he hoped Robert learned from it. Jerome swore as Portugal got ready for their free kick, sitting at the edge of his seat.

“ _Fucking_ Ronaldo!” Jerome yelled, as the Portuguese tapped in the ball after a few moments of chaos in the box, Szczęsny managing to punch the ball away but Ronaldo getting the rebound. _Three_ -nil. There was no way it was ever coming back after this, Jerome thought to himself, as the hated Ronaldo celebrated his hat-trick, and Robert kicked the post in anger. His teammates sighed, knowing how disappointed Jerome must be feeling.

To Poland’s credit, they didn’t give up. Jerome found himself jumping up in the air along with the Bayern players as Robert sprinted up the left wing and received a beautiful cross from Milik, swooping his foot in a perfect arc- _and the ball hit the crossbar._

“ _Gott verdammt!_ ” Jerome bellowed, as the Bayern players all groaned and Marco made a strangled noise halfway between a groan and a sigh.

Robert had slid across the ground on his knees, banging his head on the ground. Milik rushed over to give him a consoling pat on the back and helped him to his feet.

“That was _so close,_ ” Manu said in awe. “ _Gott,_ his luck is so bad today. It's crazy.”

Jerome winced as Robert surged forwards again, taking a shot that he put too high, sailing way over the target. He wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to watch the end of this, but he knew he had to hold on. Robert closed his eyes and jogged back as Patricio once again went to take the goal kick. But it was claimed by a Polish player, and suddenly the Polish were in possession again. Maybe they would be able to break the clean sheet-  _why did he exist?_

“Nein!” Jerome and Thomas bellowed at the same time, as a Polish defender gave the ball away by mistake and Andre Silva streaked up towards goal, the opposition caught out of position and being punished for it. Szczęsny tried valiantly but was unable to keep the bottom corner shot out, a neat finish that would be impossible to stop by even Manu. _Four-_ nil.

“It’s okay, Jerome,” Mats said, his face half contorted by his wince. “You win some, and you lose some. Robert’s done well today.”

Jerome nodded tersely, but his nod soon turned into a groan of disbelief as a corner given to Portugal following another few moments of defensive chaos was transformed into yet _another_ goal, the score going up to five.  It really wasn’t Robert’s day whatsoever. Jerome flinched horribly as he remembered the encouraging talks he had had with Robert, the good luck kisses, the messages and videos he had sense. “Oh, mein Gott, can this game just _end?_ I don’t think I can watch anymore…”

“Ten minutes left, surely nothing else can happen,” Sami said hesitantly, and there were noises of agreement.

How wrong Sami was.

Jerome buried his face into his hands as Robert made a desperate sliding tackle to dispossess Ronaldo, and was shown his second yellow card of the match- and then,  the Polish captain, with an expression of utmost disbelief on his face, was shown _red._ Then, as if to rub insult into injury- the penalty whistle blew.

"Oh, my God," Leon said in a hushed voice. 

“Jesus _Christ_ , I can’t watch anymore,” Jerome murmured, as the cameras all focused on Robert, who was breathing heavily, staring at the ground as he made his way off of the pitch to a chorus of jeers from the crowd. He shut his eyes tightly, not listening to the pundits’ criticism of Robert’s clumsy, if not malicious challenge, or to the sound of his teammates’ words of sympathy. It had been one of the worst games he had ever seen from his boyfriend- well, not  _from_ him, but one he had starred in. He wondered what Robert was thinking, wished beyond anything else that he was there right now, but feeling helpless instead. 

"Maybe Szczęsny can save this," Manu said hopefully. "Maybe he can keep it out, they're due some luck."

Jerome just kept his eyes closed, not wanting to hear what happened, but also  _desperate_ to know what was going to happen.  _Let him miss, let him miss-_

“ _Es ist ein Tor!_ ” the commentator shouted. _Of course_ it was.

The game was over. Jerome opened his eyes and stared blankly at the 6-0 scoreline, along with the red card icon on the list of players. How could it be possible that something could so badly? He had genuinely believed Robert could produce something good with his team, he had never anticipated something like this happening. 

Sami and Mesut patted Jerome's shoulder and Miro gave him a sympathetic look as people hastily changed the channel. Basti leaned over to Jerome, saying, gently, "Go and talk to him."

"And tell him he did okay," Marco called, as Jerome obliged, getting up from his spot on the sofa, getting many encouraging looks. He pulled his phone out of his pockets, ignoring the sudden surge of tweets in his notifications and the trending  _Lewandowski_ hashtag, and going straight to his chat with Robert.

***

_Private chat betweet Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng_

**Jerome:** baby

 **Jerome:** you played well

 **Jerome:** you had chances

 **Jerome:** this is going to sound annoying and you're going tot hink im just saying this

 **Jerome:** but don't beat urself up

 **Jerome:** it was such bad luck i promise

 **Jerome:** ur performance didn't look that bad

 **Jerome:** i know u won't want to reply right now

 **Jerome:** just do it when you can

 **Jerome:** just call me when you want ok

 **Jerome:** just don't get too upset

 **Jerome:** and don't blame urself

 **Jerome:** baby i know ur not in the mood but it's been a few hours

 **Jerome:** can u just let me know if ur ok

 **Jerome:** u can just text im ok

 **Jerome:** you don't have to talk

_Incoming call from Jerome Boateng._

_Call failed._

**Jerome:** ok i'll stop spamming u

 **Jerome:** just please call when u can

_Incoming call from Jerome Boateng._

_Call failed._

**Jerome:** i love you 

 **Jerome:** so much

 **Jerome:** im here for u

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> having two good matches would be too good to be true. (also, im well aware friendlies are fifa sanctioned and not uefa sanctioned so robert's red card doesn't apply to his friendly vs italy. the real question is, do i CARE?)
> 
> if you're a poland nt supporter, i apologise for grossly exaggerating ur team's strife. i just needed some drama for this chapter lol, and punishing jerome and lewy for jerome jinxing things is just one of those evil, sadistic author things. also boa's characterisation in the interview comes from my observations of him in interviews, so if it's different from him with teammates- well, i hope it's self-explanatory!
> 
> i've recently realised that this fic is going to be LONG. this international break still has many chapters to go. is this a problem for anyone? the plan was, there would be a few chapters of stupid bayern won the bundesliga nonsense and general club life, then plot in the form of international breaks. what are people's thoughts on this format?
> 
> once again, i'm self conscious, but thanks for reading, and let me know ur thoughts!!!!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.1  
> part 8!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonjour mes amis! this much shorter chap is MOSTLY timewasting nonsense but there's also some faint traces of angst... pretty much sums up the whole fic actually. this like contains the least plot ever and is SO dumb. hope you all enjoy!!!

For the first time in a long time, Manu woke up with sunlight pressing against his eyelids. When his eyes cracked open, they were poked by a sudden dazzling ray of light, making him squint. For a moment, he felt very warm and comfortable, and wanted to drift off again, but then a thought occurred to him- was it  _morning?_

He turned his head to the side, blinking in confusion, and was met by a pair of green eyes that were creased affectionately. 

"No nightmares," Thomas murmured, smiling. "You slept all throughout the night."

Manu considered this piece of information, tilting his head to the side. He  _hadn't_ had a nightmare that night. That was new. "No nightmares. But I did have a dream."

"What was it about?" Thomas asked, tenderly pushing Manu's hair off of his forehead. Manu stared into space thoughtfully.

"I was following you somewhere. It was bright outside," he said, recalling the vague world he had traipsed through, quiet and wispy and not at all as sharp and vivid as his dreams usually were. An almost white world.

"Where did I take you?" Thomas whispered.

"I don't know," Manu admitted. "I woke up before we could get there. It was a nice dream, though. I felt... as though I was safe."

For a moment the two of them stared at each other, Thomas's lips quirked up in a grin that was a little more proud than necessary, but was unfailingly pretty nonetheless. Manu was seized by a sudden urge and leaned forwards, and they shared a soft kiss, Thomas's warmth being the only thing he really registered in the moment before his thoughts kicked in, reminding him of why he had had such a peaceful night, that night.

"It was because we won," he said, as he pulled away. "That's why I slept so well."

"Well, we'll keep on winning," Thomas said decisively. "Keep the nightmares away out of sheer spite."

"Something I'll be good at," Manu chuckled, though a tiny voice in his head told him that it wouldn't be as easy as that. "What time is it?"

Thomas turned his head, reaching his arm out to blindly grope for his phone. When he brought it around, he showed Manu the screen. It was nine thirty in the morning. Considering that they had gotten into bed at around midnight, and he had fallen asleep at around one o'clock, he had slept undisturbed for around eight and a half hours. That knowledge to him was almost surreal, and while it might have sounded like a small achievement to anyone else, it filled him with an untraceably delighted feeling.

"There's two things we can do," Thomas said, tossing his phone behind him, as Manu smiled to himself. "We can get out of bed and start getting our things packed,  _or,_ we can stay here for a bit... and figure out the rest..."

Manu blushed as he realised what Thomas was talking about, and ignored his boyfriend's lecherous grin as he mumbled, "Staying here sounds good..."

"You think so?" Thomas breathed, draping his arms around Manu's shoulders and leaning closer into him. "Well, you lead the way, Manu."

Manu, now the colour of his goalkeeper shirt, obliged.

***

_Incoming call from Robert Lewandowski._

Jerome answered the call on the first ring, practically diving for his phone the second he saw the screen flash and swiping right before he even saw what the caller I.D. was. He waited eagerly as the camera flickered into life, and fell backwards onto his bed as Robert's face came onto the screen.

"Oh,  _Rob,_ " he said immediately, before Robert even had the time to open his mouth. "I'm  _so_ sorry, baby. I can't even imagine what it must've been like. But you have to realise that it wasn't your fault, you were the one who offered the most hope to the team, it was just luck that wasn't on your side-"

Robert, whose eyes were slightly bloodshot and whose face had been decidedly blank as it had appeared on Jerome's screen, gave a tentative smile. "Oh, Jeri."

"It's true," Jerome said insistently, staring sadly at his boyfriend's dejected expression. "What happened, it wasn't the norm, it won't happen again. I know it won't. I know it'll sound infuriating, but sometimes a loss can really light a fire under a team's ass, you have another game this week-"

"Not  _me,_ " Robert said bitterly. "I'm coming home early."

Jerome paused mid-spiel, remembering the red card and inwardly cringing. "Oh... right. Yeah, you are. But, but there's next time. There are more fixtures. There are other games in the group, nothing's decided yet. It's  _not_ over."

"If we keep playing like that, it will be."

"But you  _won't_ keep playing like that," Jerome insisted. "Nobody would, after that sort of performance. None of your team wants to repeat that again, you'll all be spurred into working harder! I know you will be! When you next play again, I  _know_ that you'll perform better, Robert Lewandowski isn't the type to stay down for long, okay? You've always gotten back up and kept on fighting for the top, and nothing's changed now!"

The expression on Robert's face suggested that he wanted to argue, but his face softened slightly anyway.

"Oh, Jeri," he said again. "I miss you so much. I'm sorry that I was ignoring you yesterday. I was ignoring everyone, pretty much. Not that anyone was really talking at all. We got shouted at the length of Warsaw last night. I don't blame Jerzy. Look at what we did yesterday."

"It was..." Jerome said hesitantly, not wanting to lie. Robert filled in the blank for him.

"Shambolic. I didn't have the heart to shout at anyone. Why would  _I_ , anyway? I missed a goddamn penalty, missed every shot I took, and got a red card." He laughed a little, but it was a short, harsh sound that Jerome didn't like the sound of. The sight of Robert's empty expression, of his self-deprecation, hit him like knives in the chest. "And now I'm coming home early. I got rid of Twitter on my phone for a bit. Did you see the Lewandowski hashtag?"

Jerome sighed. "I didn't look."

"You should have. There was some funny stuff on there. Though the good tweets about Germany must have flooded them out," Robert said coldly. And then his face broke and he covered his face with his hand. "Shit, I'm sorry. What's wrong with me? I'm being such a bastard."

"It's fine, baby," Jerome said understandingly, though he had winced at the Germany comment. But he knew that Robert didn't mean to be bitter. "Fuck Twitter. They've said  _plenty_ of horrible stuff about me in my time, you know. You just have to shut them up with another Wolfsburg."

Robert gave another reluctant smile, though it was rather watery. "The opportunity had better come quickly."

"It will," Jerome said firmly. "When... when are you coming back to Munich?"

"My flight's later today," Robert said flatly. "The sooner the better, though. I'll be going straight back to training..."

That answered Jerome's second question. He had been wondering if Robert might come to Westfalenstadion for Germany's friendly, but he did need to get back to club training. He hid his disappointment. "Well, we're going to Westfalen later today."

"Marco won't be obnoxious about  _that._ " Robert genuinely laughed this time. "Playing at home in his stadium. You guys will knock it out of the park again."

"That's if he even plays." Toni had entered the room just as Robert had said his comment. Jerome turned the phone towards him, and Toni gave Robert's face a nod of greeting- Robert's face gave him a hesitant smile back. "He was whining about his thigh yesterday. He's got a physio when we get to Westfalen."

"You've got other options," Robert said dismissively, secretly enjoying a small dig at Marco. "Gomez, Klose and Podolski are in good condition. Wait, no.  _Is_ Podolski in good condition? When was the last time he scored for Arsenal?"

It was a genuine question, but Toni and Jerome guffawed, having spent too much time on the group chat and considering even normal comments to be a subtle roast. Robert looked confused.

"No, seriously," he said. "When was the last time Podolski scored? I'm not trying to insult him or anything, you psychopaths."

"Oh," Toni said, looking taken aback at the concept that people could ask normal questions that weren't sarcastic. "He scored an offside goal at the start of the season, and he hasn't done much since. He's been looking good in training, though, he's probably going to be starting over Marco in the game."

"I feel bad for Poldi," Jerome said. "He's been having a bit of a run of bad form, it might be part of his injury. But he'll be fighting fit soon, when Muller-Wolfhart's done with him."

"Some players do play better for country than for club," Toni suggested, and then he cringed, looking apologetically at Jerome, thankfully out of the line of sight of Robert, whose expression had somewhat darkened. "Uh- I mean- anyway, Jerome, I came in here to tell you that Jogi wants us to get our stuff together, the bus leaves in an hour-"

" _Ugh,_ " Jerome complained. "We just started the call." And then he looked down at Robert, who was looking moody again. "I'm sorry, baby. I'll call you when we get to Westfalen, okay? And... text me before you get on your flight, and when you get back to Munich..."

Toni suddenly but thankfully had disappeared from sight. 

Robert nodded curtly, but smiled at Jerome. "Yeah, I will. I love you. Good luck with Marco's bragging on the bus journey."

"I'll need it," Jerome said with a grin, and he blew a kiss at Robert, who blew it back with a little less energy than usual. And then Robert hung up, disappearing from the screen. Jerome stared at the disconnected message for a moment, remembering Robert's bad mood, and he winced a little at the thought of another loss for Robert...

_They had better win their next Bundesliga game..._

***

_Private chat between Mats Hummels and Benedikt Howedes:_

**Mats:** where the HELL are u

 **Mats:** why hav u left so early

 **Mats:** did u take my razor?

 **Benni:** I left early because I woke up early

 **Benni:** I tried to wake you up but you were just being stupid

 **Mats:** what do u mean

 **Mats:** wheres my RAZOR

 **Benni:** I haven't touched your razor fool

 **Benni:** Why would I take it

 **Benni:** You've probably just misplaced it

 **Mats:** i'd sooner misplace my ass

 **Mats:** that razor is ALWAYS in my toiletries bag

 **Mats:** it never leaves it

 **Mats:** it's special to me

 **Mats:** it gives me a perfect shave

 **Mats:** YOU misplaced it

 **Benni:** I HAVEN'T

 **Benni:** You've just put it somewhere and forgotten where

 **Mats:** look maybe i'd do that with any other worldly belonging but NOT with my razor!!!

 **Mats:** you're perfectly aware of how important it is to me!!!

 **Benni:** BUT I HAVEN'T TOUCHED IT MATTHIAS

 **Benni:** I have my own razor thanks one that doesn't give me a weird hipster trim

 **Mats:** DON'T DO ME LIKE THIS BENEDIKT

 **Benni:** I'M SORRY BUT IT'S WHAT I  THINK

 **Mats:** YOU HAVE NO TASTE

 **Mats:** IT'S STYLISH

 **Mats:** WAIT 

 **Mats:** HOLY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT

 **Benni:** WHAT

 **Mats:** MARCO

 **Benni:** WHAT ABOUT HIM

 **Benni:** WAIT

 **Benni:** OH NO

 **Benni:** MATS WE LEAVE IN AN HOUR

 **Benni:** DON'T FIGHT MARCO

 **Mats:** HE TOOK MY RAZOR

 **Benni:** YES BUT

 **Mats:** I'M GOING TO KILL HIM

***

Marco had just thrown a pile of clothes the length of the room when Mario entered, carrying a stack of toast. He blithely ignored his boyfriend's supremely unimpressed look, scooping up another armful of his possessions to throw into the suitcase. "You know, I should've been a basketballer. My aim is perfect."

"You lazy  _pig,_ " Mario said disdainfully, as Marco managed to get everything but a can of hairspray into the open suitcase. "When you open your suitcase in Dortmund and everything falls out,  _don't_ expect me to help you clear it up."

"I won't need you to. This? This is disordered order," Marco declared, marching over to his suitcase to chuck the can of hairspray back in. "I can find everything just fine. I'm just making life more efficient for myself."

" _Footballers,_ " Mario scoffed, wrinkling his nose as Marco marched back to retrieve more of his belongings. "They're so self-righteous."

"I'm self-righteous because I'm always right, Mar, get with the programme," Marco said. Mario opened his mouth to argue this, but before he could, there was a roar of, 'MARCO!' from outside of the room.

"What the hell did you do?" Mario said instantly, as Marco clapped his hands over his mouth to conceal his shrill giggle as the dulcet tones of an irate Mats Hummels floated down the corridor.

"Will you believe me if I said I did nothing?" Marco returned, his voice half-strangled with laughter. Mario gave him a look of abject disbelief.

"Why would you even and  _try_ and say that? In what possible world would I believe it?" Mario said. 

"A fair and valid point. Okay, so, maybe I _did_ do something. So you know Mats' razor? The stupid one that makes his beard all fancy that he thinks looks  _so good?_ Yeah, I stole it. But here's the real kicker- I gave it to Jonas." Mario began to grin, but he was also half-torn by exasperation by his boyfriend's complete childishness. "I told him it was mine, and asked him to keep it for safekeeping, and you know Jonas, he doesn't question anything, he's too nice. Mats will never suspect it's him. Anyway, I did it because, seeing as we're going to Dortmund, I'm going to be hearing a lot of snarky comments from him- so I decided to get my shots in before the battle even begins."

 He jumped as somebody outside banged on the door, but he instantly grinned widely and sharply. "My, Mario, we appear to have a guest!"

" _Do_ we, now?" Mario said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, as Marco assumed a neutral expression and hurried to answer the door, tipping an enormous wink back at his boyfriend. Before he had the chance to open it properly, it was flung open, and a livid Mats Hummels stood in the doorway, his finger already pointing straight at Marco in an accusatory gesture.

"REUS!"

"Mats, mein Freund!" Marco said, sounding delighted, rushing forwards to envelope the half-dressed defender in a hug before he could start ranting. "Long time no see! To what do we owe the pleasure of-"

"Stop the bullshit, Reus! I  _know_ you took my razor! It cost 100 euros!  _Give it back!_ " Mats yelled at him, though as he was half-consumed by the hug, his ability to angrily gesticulate was limited. "I can't believe you! We're literally leaving in one hour and you've decided to be a stupid PILLOCK! HOW OLD ARE YOU?"

"Mats, I have  _no_ idea what you're talking about," Marco said in a tone of gentle concern, even fixing an expression of alarm on his face. "Your razor? I've never touched it in my life. Maybe you misplaced it-?"

"YOUR DICK WILL BE MISPLACED IF YOU DON'T GIVE IT BACK RIGHT THIS MOMENT!"

"I'm afraid," Mario said, red-faced with laughter. "That I will have to object to. You have to file a contract with  _me_ before doing  _anything_ with my boyfriend's dick, thank you-"

"I'LL FILE A CONTRACT WITH A HITMAN IF YOU DON'T-!"

" _I_ could file a _complaint_ with the DFB for that, you know, you just threatened to assassinate me," Marco said, his poker face unmatched by any other- Mario, on the other hand, had unfortunately lost his resolve, and had to turn away to laugh into his hands, overcome by mirth.

"What is going  _on_ here?" A voice said from the corridor before Mats could respond to this, and Basti appeared in the doorway, already dressed, sunglasses propped on top of his blond head, and an expression of great bemusement on his face. "Why has Mats got a towel around his neck? Why is he yelling?"

"That's  _just_ what we were asking," Marco said in a worried tone. "Mats just  _stormed_ in here, yelling his head off- do you think he's been concussed by a header? They say that aggression is a symptom of it-"

" _I'll_ concuss _him_ , I really will, Basti!" Mats told the midfielder furiously. " _He's taken my razor, and it cost 100 euros!_ Do something about him! Tell him to give it back!"

Basti sighed, and then said, patiently, "Do I look like a  _Grundschule_ teacher to you? I'm not here to break up your petty fights. Just you two wait until Fips gets his hands on you-"

"There won't be anything to get his hands on once  _I've_ got  _my_ hands on this bastard! He's stolen my stuff!"

"I haven't! That's another symptom of a concussion,  confusion!" Marco said insistently, shaking his head. "It's a big problem in football, you know, maybe you should get your head checked out, Mats-"

Mats disbelieving yell was cut off by the appearance of Lukas, who looked completely bewildered by the scene before him. "What are you all doing? Fips is losing his mind, we're definitely going to be late at this rate, Thomas and Manu just got downstairs-"

"These two idiots are having another fight, Marco took Mats' razor and Mats is trying to get it back," Basti summarised for him. Lukas shook his head at Marco in disbelief.

"Are you  _five?_ Give it back to him, you idiot, we really need to be leaving soon-" 

"It isn't  _me_  who has it!" Marco said insistently. "These are all unfounded accusations!" 

"Unfounded?" Lukas said in amazement. "It's  _you,_ Marco, we all know that if you haven't taken it you've pawned it off on someone else to hide-"

Marco spluttered indignantly, hardly able to believe his genius plot had been uncovered so quickly, but he wasn't going to admit that. "Seriously, come and check my room. Every inch of my room. Pat me down if you have to-"

"I'd rather you didn't," Mario put in from the side.

Mats had bypassed red and was now turning maroon.

"If you're so innocent, why is your boyfriend giggling like a little idiot?  He _knows_ it's you who took it! 

"Don't break your neck jumping to _that_ conclusion," Marco said staunchly. "You need to think outside the box, I'm not the cause of every inconvenience that happens in your life. Maybe Mario's laughing because you're threatening me with murder over a lost razor. Anyway, maybe it's better that it's gone. 100 euros for a razor that doesn't even give a good shave? Sounds like you've dodged a bullet, Mats-"

There was yet another interruption to Mats' indignation by the arrival of Miro, who did not seem at all surprised by the sight of conflict between Mats and Marco. He just, in a typical Miro fashion, sighed.

"I had a feeling it might be something like this," he started, but he was cut off by Marco, who acted as though he was relieved to see a sensible presence. 

"Benevolent Opa! Finally, we have a gentle mediator who can settle these tides of confusion and unfounded accusation. Mats is accusing me of having a possession of his  _and_ threatened to murder me, when I've done nothing of the sort," Marco declared dramatically. Miro's expression was reminiscient to Lukas's disbelief, but it was also combined with the sort of exasperation that was only borne of years of witnessing utter stupidity. 

"I'll settle these tides of confusion," Miro said firmly. "With an ultimatum. Would you rather it be Mats who murders you or Philipp, Marco? He's about one second away from bursting every blood vessel in his body."

" _Even Miro!_ " Marco gasped. "Seriously, all of you come and search my room, I don't have anything in there."

"Marco," Basti said, with the air of someone explaining something very simple to someone very obtuse. "Fips is  _going_ to kill you."

"Why? I've already said I don't have it!"

"Marco, we know you have it! It's  _you!_ "

"Good evidence, Basti, you should be a lawyer. Being me doesn't mean I'm a thief!" Marco turned to Mario, who was so far gone by this point he had actually fallen to the floor. "Mario, back me up! I didn't bring  _any_ razor in this room, did I?"

"H-He-" Mario choked, getting back to his feet, but the rest of his sentence was incoherent. 

"He's not a reliable source," Marco said immediately. "He can't even talk. So I remain innocent until proven guilty."

"Your general existence proves your guilt," Basti said firmly. "You two have had it in for each other since the day you were born."

"Well, this mystery is going to get solved very quickly," Lukas said under his breath, as Mats started to yell again. "Fips is coming."

Indeed he was. The short captain was stalking down the corridor with Benni, Marc-Andre and Jonas behind him- Benni looking exasperated, Marc-Andre startled, and Jonas nervous. And Fips  _enraged._

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"

They were so engrossed in their idiocy they hadn't noticed him approaching, but when he shouted, Mats jumped mid-curse as if he had just been shot. Miro sighed again. Basti and Lukas carefully avoided each other's gazes. Marco looked at Jonas and felt a sudden panic inside of him, realising his ingenious plan looked a lot less solid at this moment. And Mario fell down again, hiding his face.

"HUMMELS! REUS! GOTZE!" Fips bellowed, scarlet in the face. "ARE YOU AWARE THAT WE ARE MEANT TO BE LEAVING THIS HOTEL IN THIRTY MINUTES TIME! AND YOU HAVEN'T EVEN FINISHED PACKING, AND  _YOU_ AREN'T EVEN DRESSED!"

"It's nothing that you need concern yourself with, Fips," Marco said hastily, but Mats had already pointed directly at Marco.

"I've  _got_ everything, I was ready, then I saw that my razor was gone! The razor I spent 100 euros on! And I  _know_ I didn't lose it because I always make sure it's safe in my toiletries bag! And I know that this idiot took it and hid it somewhere!" Mats yelled, and then he froze. Possibly because Fips' face, which had been furious just a moment ago, had suddenly gone extremely blank. He cast a wary look at the rest of them, who reciprocated the look with one of their own.

"So  _this_ is what it's really about," Fips said softly, a smile spreading across his face- a smile that was not welcoming in the slightest. It was a smile that preceded annihilation, the destruction of worlds, the loss of all dear and near to the heart. "A stolen razor. Well, this really clears everything up for me. I understand, now. Please forgive me for misreading this situation. When I came up here, I was foolishly expecting this situation to be one that involved  _adults._ I see now that it was ludicrous to have the thought even cross my mind. We're only dealing with professionals here, NOT STUPID CHILDREN!"

Marco cringed as Fips' voice amplified significantly, and Mario let out a cry of laughter and lay backwards on the carpet, having completely lost control. Everyone else was struggling to keep their faces straight.

"YOU'RE ALL UNBELIEVABLE! WHAT WILL MAKE YOU ACT LIKE ADULTS? DO YOU HAVE TO BE GIVEN INSTRUCTIONS FOR EVERY LITTLE THING YOU DO TO STOP YOU FROM LOSING YOUR HEADS? DO- DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU, 'OK, MATS AND MARCO, DON'T HIDE EACH OTHER'S THINGS, MAKE SURE YOU DON'T LOOK AT EACH OTHER IN CASE ONE OF YOU TAKES IT THE WRONG WAY, DON'T EVEN BREATHE IN THE SAME VICINITY, BECAUSE OTHERWISE MATS WILL BE ACCUSING YOU OF, OF TRYING TO CONTAMINATE HIM WITH THE FUCKING PLAGUE'? YOU'RE ALL BEYOND COMPREHENSION! YOU'RE FUCK-UPS FROM START TO FINISH! YOU'RE, YOU'RE A FUCKING OMNISHAMBLES! YOU'RE LIKE A BAD COFFEE MACHINE, FROM BEANS TO CUP YOU FUCK UP!"

Marco opened his mouth and closed it. Mats looked as though Fips had picked up a tree trunk and clubbed him over the head with it. Mario's hands were over his mouth and his eyes were wide. And the players behind him looked as though the ground had been stolen underneath their feet.

And then, there was a timid cough. The sound went unnoticed amongst the deafening silence in the room, and because every single person was struggling against the tide of mirth that was threatening to break loose and drown them all. Fips was breathing too heavily, glaring too powerfully, to notice it. So the cough happened again, this time slightly more pronounced. This time, Fips glanced to his right, and saw a bright-red Jonas standing forwards.

" _What?_ " he demanded, and Jonas jumped with a flinch.

"S-Sorry... I don't mean to interrupt," he said in a small voice. He reached into his pocket, and Marco swore under his breath, knowing that his plan was officially scuppered. "It's just... Y-You were talking about a razor, Mats... Is it th-this one?"

And he pulled out of his pocket Mats' razor, holding it up for everyone to see.

***

_Private chat between Marc-Andre ter Stegen and Bernd Leno_

**Marc-Andre:** Ok Bernd you just missed

 **Marc-Andre:** The funniest thing I've ever seen just happened

 **Marc-Andre:** I can't

 **Bernd:** what? did u manage to save a goal?

 **Marc-Andre:** Seriously stop trying none of your roasts work

 **Marc-Andre:** Anyway omf

 **Marc-Andre:** Mats and Marco were yelling at each other as per usual

 **Marc-Andre:** Mats was saying that Marco stole his razor blah blah

 **Bernd:** he did didn't he

 **Bernd:** but marco was denying it?

 **Marc-Andre:** Ofc

 **Marc-Andre:** And we came up with Fips because Fips was ready for murder and tbh we all wanted to see it

 **Marc-Andre:** I dragged Jonas along too

 **Marc-Andre:** Fips's face was like

**Marc-Andre:**

****

**Bernd:** honestly that's his resting face

 **Bernd:** find a better gif

 **Marc-Andre:** Find a better personality

 **Marc-Andre:** Anyway Mats said it was about the razor

 **Marc-Andre:** And Fips went absolutely bonkers

 **Marc-Andre:** It was fucking incredible

 **Marc-Andre:** It was living art

 **Marc-Andre:** He called them an omnishambles

 **Marc-Andre:** And then he said "you're like a bad coffee machine, from bean to cup you fuck up"

 **Bernd:** FUCK LAMFMEOKFEO GET HIM A LAUREATE'S AWARD

 **Marc-Andre:** RIGHT???

 **Marc-Andre:** But wait til you hear the biggest plot twist of your miserable life

 **Bernd:** im howling what 

 **Marc-Andre: JONAS** coughs to get everyone's attention

 **Marc-Andre:** And guess what he fuckingngn pulls out of his pocket

 **Bernd:** the razor

 **Bernd:** omfl

 **Bernd:** in what world did JONAS steal someone's stuff

 **Marc-Andre:** Marco gave it to him and told him it was his lol

 **Marc-Andre:** He thought it was smart and that Mats would never suspect Jonas

 **Marc-Andre:** You should've seen the expression on Fips' face

 **Marc-Andre:** He looked like Marcelo did during 7-1

 **Marc-Andre:** Totally finished

 **Bernd:** it's such a stupid situation but it's??? so funny??? 

 **Marc-Andre:** Sums up this goddamn team

 **Marc-Andre:** Sucks you have to hear it from me 2nd hand xx

 **Bernd:** we almost got through three minutes of conversations without you being a dickhead

 **Bernd:** it was too good to be true wasn't it

 **Marc-Andre:** It's a natural instinct to me

 **Marc-Andre:** Trying not to insult you is like holding my breath

 **Marc-Andre:** Eventually I have to give in to the urge

 **Bernd:** yeah well

 **Bernd:** i hope u fucking conceed you fucking coconut head

 **Marc-Andre:** Conceed

 **Bernd:** don't fucking start it's two letters out of place

 **Marc-Andre:** I'll conceed, you're right about that

 **Bernd:** im not even going to bother.

 **Bernd:** they don't think it be like it is, but it do

**Bernd:**

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is absolutely just a bottle chapter and is stupid unfunny filler nonsense but marco is so fun to write... also i had to sneak in a malcolm tucker quote for fips
> 
> it's a little shitty paced but it might just be cos ive read this a million times and it j seems repetitive and dull to me but maybe yall will think differently!!! idk!!!!! i should just stop being nervous and hit the damn post button without this post-chapter self-deprecation!!!
> 
> once again thanks for reading!!! let me know your thoughts!!! you're all the best!!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.1  
> part 9!

Westfalenstadion was the home to Borussia Dortmund, and therefore, would be the home to a lot of pettiness and arguments over club rivalry over the next few days Die Mannschaft were in the vicinity. As they stepped onto the bus, Marco, who had been noticeably subdued after the fiasco with the hidden razor, cleared his throat, stopping in the middle of all the rows of seats, holding everyone up behind him. Fips, who had taken a seat by Leon, gave him a burning look that the self-righteous forward did not acknowledge.

"Everyone!" Marco declared, and a cacaphony of groans sounded from behind him. "I have an announcement to make."

"Reus, I'll shave your fucking head, I swear to God-" Mats started to threaten from where he was sitting by Benni, but was silenced by a hand that smacked over his mouth. It was probably for the best- if either Mats or Marco said another word to each other for the next few days, Fips was liable to have a seizure.

"What is going on here?" Jogi demanded. "Are you trying to hold us up more, Reus? After you and Hummels are already running an extra two miles in training?"

"I just have to make an announcement!" Marco protested. "I'm just here to say, as we are heading to my home, my stadium, my entire life, you're all protected. My aura surrounds you and we will win this friendly versus Russia."

The second chorus of groans was louder than the first and Mario pushed an indignant Marco into a seat, saying, "Baby, just don't speak for about two hours."

"I was being  _motivating!_ "

Mesut and Sami took their seats, Mesut automatically taking the window seat and Sami taking the aisle seat. Mesut suffered from motion sickness, and it had just become unspoken habit for him to climb over Sami's knees to get to sit by the window. Following Marco's non-speech, the bus was practically rocked to the side with how loud it was, with everyone feeling distinctly rowdy as the prospect of their second international matchday grew closer. Mesut was pleased he was experiencing an upwards surge in the team's play recently, and hoped he would get a chance to start in the friendly- though there was every chance the reserve team would be playing.

 His thoughts were disrupted by a kick to the back of his chair and a shout of laughter. Him and Sami shared looks of matching horror and turned around, and his worst fears were confirmed- Thomas was sitting behind them, grinning wolfishly, with Manu looking exasperated next to him.

"Oh, Gott," Sami said desperately. "It's not too late to change seats, is it?"

"It is," Mesut said gloomily, as Jerome and Toni sat in the two seats in front of them and Leroy and Julian sat in the seats next to them. "Just our fucking luck."

"Come, now, young Sami and Mesut, that's no way to treat your  _friends,_ " Thomas said, leaning forwards and pressing his face in the gap between the seats in front of him. "All Manu and I are here to do is engage in friendly conversation!"

"Engage with someone else," Sami said irritably, and he flicked Thomas's nose protruding between their two seats. The two of them resolutely turned around and Thomas looked faintly disheartened as Manu patted him sympathetically on the shoulder.

"Honestly, what do they think we're going to do?" Thomas asked him, just loud enough for Mesut and Sami to hear- the two exchanged looks once again.

"I wonder," Manu said more quietly. "Probably make fun of their blatant in-closetness and harass them for the whole bus journey?"

Thomas gasped in mock horror.

"Hey," Marco said, reaching an arm over the top of the seats to try and grab Thomas's head. "You guys can't have all the fun. If we're going to make fun of anyone, it has to be a team effort, or it's unfair."

"You just spent this whole morning harassing Mats, I think you can survive, big boy," Thomas returned, unmoved by Marco's words of complaint. He was a little offended that Fips had blown his top and that Mats and Marco had been thoroughly eviscerated while he was absent from the proceedings. "And get your hands away from me, I'll bite you, Reus."

"Oh, really?" Marco challenged, and his hand blindly groped around in mid-air before finding Thomas's face. "Do it, pussy."

Thomas sighed and grabbed Marco's hand, pulling on it so the forward yelped and was dragged forward in his seat. When he let go, Marco's limbs returned forlornly to his side.

Meanwhile, Jogi was standing at the front of the bus, gazing down at the rows and rows of children and silently doing a head-count, knowing that there was every possibility that one of them could have gone missing in the short walk from the hotel to the bus. When he sadly concluded that everyone was safely here, he took a deep breath, knowing he would have to muster quite a lot of power in his voice to silence them all. Before he could embarrass himself by yelling hoarsely and being ignored, his assistant, Hansi, passed him a whistle.

Well, it mostly worked in training, why not here? Jogi put the whistle to his lips and blew on it, causing a currently standing Marc-Andre to jump violently and hit his head on the roof above him, falling down in a rather ungainly manner, attracting roars of laughter.

"That's _also_ how he reacts when someone says Bernd's name," someone, likely Marco, called from the midst of the indistinguishable crowd of idiots.

" _Bernd? Who's Bernd?  I don't know a Bernd! That sounds like a stupid name! I'm not in love! I don't want to have sex with him!"_ another idiot, sounding like Joshua, shouted out, and there were more roars of laughter.

Marc-Andre put his head in his hands.

"Tell me," Jogi said calmly, once the catcalls had died out any everyone turned their attention to someone new to mock (i.e, their eternally suffering coach). "Do you ever think there'll be a day where I can perform a single action without you all acting like uncivilised barbarians?"

"Keep trying, don't let a bad result get you down," Thomas yelled from near the back of the bus. 

"Toni Kroos to Real Madrid, 2018." Jerome offered his contribution to the inane back-and-forth, and there was laughter, particularly from Bayern players, who would never forget the Champion's League semi-final of 2017. Toni leaned against the window and stared longingly out at the car-park as if he had suddenly entered a sad music video.

Jogi passed a hand over his eyes, shielding himself from the view of the giggling toddlers for a second, and imagined a world where he had inherited a serious and respectable team, who didn't delay journeys by half an hour because of stolen razors and idiotic quips. Returning to reality was disheartening.

"Bist du fertig? Ja? Also," Jogi said, before anyone could respond sardonically to his rhetorical question. "When we arrive at Westfalenstadion-"

"YOU'LL NEVER WALK ALONE!"

" _Reus-you-are-already-running-an-extra-two-miles-don't-make-it-three,"_ Jogi said in one breath. "We'll start training and also have the routine physio check-ups for everybody. If you already have a scheduled appointment on top of the checkup, you don't need to attend. I expect everybody to be keeping up with their treatments. We can't afford to have players taking ill care of themselves and not being in form for games. This game versus Russia might just be a friendly with no competitive weight, but you all are well aware by now that friendlies are most important for tactical development and keeping up with our international form."

There were nods of agreement at this- Marco in particular looked a little more solemn. He was one who took international games far more seriously than others, because his awful run of luck in terms of injuries and not being part of tournament squads had made his international playing time increasingly limited. He had been delighted at the inclusion of the new Nations' League- to win an international achievement with his country was a dream for him.

"Gut," Jogi said in a satisfied sort of tone. "Okay, you can all resume your meaningless conversations. I'll brief you some more on the arrangements when we get to the hotel, we're already running late."

Marco and Mats were suddenly avoiding his gaze.

***

_Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Robert Lewandowski_

**Jerome:** hihi baby ! <333333

**Jerome:** we're on the bus rn

**Jerome:** and u were absolutely right

**Jerome:** the second marco opened his mouth something obnoxious about bvb came out

**Robert:** What did I tell you

**Robert:** Marco is possibly the most predictable person on the planet

**Robert:** He likes to pretend he has layers of mystery and subterfuge

**Robert:** But he really just has layers of self-righteousness 

**Robert:** Everything he says consists of club patriotism, narcissism and/or insulting Mats

**Jerome:** none ever spoke a truer truth

**Jerome:** where are you right now?

**Robert:** Airport

**Jerome:** oh

**Jerome:** right

**Jerome:** when is ur flight?

**Robert:** Hour and a half

**Robert:** I should be in munich before it gets dark

**Jerome:** will you meet with arjen or david?

**Robert:** Hell no lol

**Robert:** I'm going to go home and mope

**Jerome:** baby

**Robert:** Don't "baby" me Jeri I've earned the right to mope

**Jerome:** even so

**Jerome:** i dont want u to just sit around feeling sad u know??

**Robert:** Well, I've done plenty of it already

**Robert:** Wow the levels of self-pity really jumped out

**Robert:** I'm being annoying aren't I

**Jerome:** you're never annoying

**Jerome:** all im saying is that u should take ur mind off things

**Jerome:** do kickboxing or something

**Jerome:** go for a run

**Jerome:** hang out with someone

**Robert:** I don't feel in the mood for it

**Robert:** I feel like I shouldn't be enjoying myself

**Jerome:** what are you talking about?

**Robert:** This isn't a holiday

**Robert:** I got sent home because I got a red

**Robert:** I fucked my team over

**Robert:** I shouldn't be enjoying myself you know?

**Jerome:** that was just the stupidest thing i've ever read

**Robert:** Yeah? Well you wouldn't know what it feels like ffs

**Jerome:** are you fucking kidding me right now robert?

**Jerome:** ur literally acting like i've never faced a loss

**Jerome:** news flash: i have! and i've gotten reds! and i've felt shit about it!

**Robert:** You're right 

**Robert:** I'm sorry

**Robert:** I know I'm just being more and more obnoxious

**Robert:** I don't mean to be Jeri

**Jerome:** it's okay baby

**Jerome:** all im trying to do is help

**Jerome:** i know what it feels like to lose out on things

**Jerome:** and so do you!

**Jerome:** i don't want to bring up der klassiker '13 but i will

**Jerome:** that game was one of the biggest of ur life

**Jerome:** and you failed it

**Jerome:** ok this motivating pep talk went the wrong way

**Robert:** LMAO

**Robert:** Honestly I'm not offended I get what you're trying to say I got through the disappointment

**Robert:** But it just feels different tho

**Robert:** That game wasn't humiliating, it was just disappointing

**Jerome:** look

**Jerome:** i know that for us football is our whole life

**Jerome:** everything feels momentous when you're at the peak of your career and have such high expectations on you

**Jerome:** but it isn't! there's still so much time! one disappointing result doesn't equal everything!

**Jerome:** seriously rob

**Jerome:** the disappointment of this will fade away

**Jerome:** the next game is what matters the most right now

**Jerome:** we lost the world cup final, got knocked out at 2 semi finals, then we finally won the cup

**Jerome:** we lost out so many times but we eventually got the gold

**Jerome:** many victors have lost so many times

**Robert:** As always

**Robert:** You're right

**Jerome:** that game wasn't the best of your career

**Jerome:** but it doesnt define ur career either

**Jerome:** u've got to keep moving

**Jerome:** don't look back otherwise you'll get lost in the could've would've should'ves

**Robert:** You knwo what you're fccking right

**Robert:** I'm seriously gonna cry

**Robert:** I've never loved somebody as much as I love you

**Robert:** Seriously I just want to fucking consume you

**Jerome:** baby it was so romantic before u said that weird shit

**Robert:** I was meant to write "in a hug" at the end

**Jerome:** i fucking love you so fucking much too im literally screaming ur my favourite ever person and i just wish that u were here right now instead of fucking toni bc i just want to kiss u so abadly but we'll see each other soon look what you'vedone to me it's literally been a few days and i feel like weve been apart a year bc i just love you that much

**Robert:** Honest to god Jeri I just can't imagine the concept of not??? Having you??? It's unthinkable??? Even marco wouldn't be able to find the words for how much I love u and he manages to find words for everything

**Jerome:** skdjefjerijerifjeijei the love is that special

**Robert:** It's more than special

**Robert:** It's just??

**Robert:** Like a divine force

**Robert:**

****

**Jerome:**

***

Journeys with Die Mannschaft tended to be fun, but, Sami reflected, only when you weren't sitting in a seat with Thomas Muller behind you and Jerome Boateng in front of you.

He and Mesut had shared more exasperated looks than was healthy in the first ten minutes of the journey alone. By the thirty minute mark, Mesut's eye had started twitching and Sami's forehead was against Jerome's seat, his eyes closed as he tried to repress the urge rising within him to tear his teammates apart. Whether it be the simple act of seat-kicking, poking and pretending it wasn't them ("I  _watched_ you do it, Muller!") or generally just existing, the two of them made sure it was impossible to relax. They were occasionally aided by Marco, who yelled something stupid once in a while just to remind the group he was there. The only moments of respite they had was when Leroy chipped into the conversation- for a few moments, all roasting would turn to him.

"Mesut," Sami said between clenched teeth at one point, as a hand slapped the top of his head before drawing hastily away. "Please restrain me. I am about to undo my seatbelt, stride backwards, take Thomas Muller by the throat, and hurl him straight out of that window."

Mesut laughed, leaning over to grab Sami around the waist and pressed his head against Sami's shoulder. "Is that enough for you?"

"Perfect," Sami said, wondering just why his stomach had turned upside down. That most certainly wasn't a normal sensation to him.  "Just... stay like that. Until we retire from this godforsaken team."

"You got it, Sami," Mesut said peacefully.

Sami avoided Jerome's gaze as the defender turned around to be annoying and turned back almost instantly with his hands over his mouth.

Overall, it had been a journey they  _hoped_ they would fucking forget, because otherwise they would be filled with fury for the rest of their lives. When the bus drew towards the hotel, the two of them practically clung to each other, exchanging looks of delight. They would finally be able to stretch their legs, feel fresh air against their faces, and have ample space to beat Jerome and Thomas to death.

When the bus stopped, there was an influx of chatter as everyone stood up, sounding like stampeding elephants. Jogi tried to conduct order as everyone rushed towards the bus's exit, but he was practically trampled over as everyone spilled into the open air, sick of off-tune singing and bad jokes and the constant cycles of roasting. Jerome had instantly sprinted towards Marco ( _ignore him, Sami, you're being paranoid,_ Sami thought to himself) and Fips was yelling at someone again. Jogi was checking his phone as everyone collected their luggage, frowning slightly at the screen.

"Thank every single fucking god out there," Mesut gasped, as he lugged his bag up to where Sami was standing. "I thought I was going to combust if I stayed in that fucking bus a second longer. Where's Thomas? I'm ready to kill him now."

Sami jerked his head to the little gathering of players who were all huddled together as if sharing a world-shattering secret. Mesut glanced at them and sighed.

"I don't want to go over there. They'll just be annoying," he said, stretching his arms back, so his shirt rode up, revealing a sliver of skin and the crease of lean abdominal muscles before he swung his fists by his side, trying to coax energy back into his body.

_Wait._ _What_ had he just noticed?

"Listen up!" Jogi yelled over the crowd, before Sami could probe the sudden feeling of all-consuming bemusement inside of him. "I know you're all planning on charging into the hotel like baboons, but I have a little announcement to make."

There were noises of dread as Sami stared blankly at the ground.

"I've been evaluating the level of focus in this group recently, and frankly, as everybody will without a doubt be  _shocked_ to be hear, it's atrocious."

"Really?" Fips asked. "Are you really telling us that enlightening statistic now- oh my God. I just did what they did. I'm turning into them."

"You are one of us, Fips," Marco guffawed. "It's buried deep down there-"

Marco was instantly quelled by the look that Fips gave him. After the omnishambles rant, he didn't dare test his luck further.

"Do you see?" Jogi asked, gesturing at Fips and Marco, Fips sighing and Mats looking entirely unabashed. "Do you see my point, perfectly characterised? Our play remains to be solid and we're winning games. But the focus levels have been worrying. I attribute this to the abundant amount of gayness within this squad. The fact that practically all of you are in a relationship means you will  _never_ have your attention in the right place-"

Toni burst out laughing. "I've _literally_ been saying it all along!"

"-so, as a test, for this fixture, rooming arrangements will not be up to you. You will all be required to room with somebody you don't usually room with. This should hopefully limit late night... shenanigans and focus all of our attention on  _football_ only-"

There was a loud chorus of protestation, with every single gay person exclaiming in indignation and the straight (definitely in the minority) shrugging. There was one person, however, who didn't react. Manu, who was standing by Thomas, had suddenly turned very white. Thomas did not react in his signature overdramatic way either. He looked at Manu instantly, an uncharacteristically urgent look on his face, and looked back towards Jogi.

"Jogi," he said in a voice that was different from the shock and annoyance of everyone else. It caused Miro to look at him with a frown. "I don't think we should do this, Manu and I-"

"Absolutely  _no_ exceptions, Muller," Jogi said dryly. "You and Manuel _definitely_ need separating. Though Muller, you're not going with Reus, that'd only happen if the hotel wanted demolishing-"

"Jogi-" Thomas began, looking at the pale Manu again, but Jogi held a hand up that said  _no arguments._ He looked as though he was going to continue arguing, but Manu suddenly grabbed his wrist and shook his head. "Manu-"

"It's fine," Manu said quietly, though he didn't look fine. "I can handle it."

"Manu, this is different," Thomas whispered. "Jogi would understand-"

"No," Manu said more firmly. "I'm not a child, Thommy. I can handle this."

Thomas looked taken aback. "I never said you were a child-"

"Seriously," Manu said flatly. "I'm a grown man, okay? I don't need people to coddle me. I can handle different rooming arrangements."

"It's not a question of how grown you are-"

"Drop it, Thomas!" Manu suddenly snapped, and Thomas blinked. "It's fine!"

Thomas fell silent, staring into space with a frown, and Manu was suddenly blinking very hard. It seemed that nobody noticed- nobody but Miro, that was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ignore the mention of 2018 it's the only way the joke would work, as u all know this fic takes place in a neutral pocket dimension where it's the height of germany's career :P
> 
> another shorter chap im SORRY i promise next one will be longer cos its a training/plottish one with a lot more content i promise i love u all


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.1  
> part 10!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've reached chapter 15!!! and that means it's another 5th chapter!!! so it's another dedication!!! this chapter is dedicated to the lovely lacey!!! her comments never fail to make my day week month and year!!! and im sorry she's lost her ice tea because of this fic!!! <333
> 
> hope u guys enjoy!!!

As the air was rent with yells from everyone as they scrambled to find a suitable rooming partner, Miro cast a glance at Thomas, who was looking mildly upset, and then at Manu, whose jaw was tight. Making a decision in the moment, he strolled over to the pair, looking carefully at Manu.

"Manuel?" he asked, causing the blond giant to blink and give him a tentative smile. "Would you like to room with me?"

Manu looked surprised, and glanced at Thomas, clearly having expected that Miro would go for him. Thomas was watching Miro, but he didn't display any sign of indignation at his boyfriend being chosen over him. In fact, Miro could detect  _relief_ in his eyes. Although Miro didn't know what was going on, he was sure his instincts, which had never wronged him before, were correct in asking Manu to be his roommate.

"Sure," Manu said finally, nodding at Miro. "That's fine."

Miro smiled at him, but he was still focusing on Thomas, who slightly raised his eyebrows, sending a clear message-  _I'll tell you later._ He then turned to Mario Gotze, who had jumped on him, asking him if he wanted to be his roomate, while Mario Gomez and Jonas had stepped next to one another.

Jerome had stepped next to Sami, and Lukas by Mesut, with Toni finding a partner in Julian Draxler, and Marc-Andre with Leroy. Most of everyone had found a roommate by now, barring a very conspicious pair. Fips, who was standing by Basti, took one look at the two that were left, and immediately said, "Absolutely not."

" _No_ ," Mats said, looking at the grinning man in front of him with a nauseated expression on his face. "A hard pass from me. Toni, swap with me."

Toni's smirk answered for him. With a sense of dawning horror, Mats glanced around at everyone who had found their roommates, and said, "No. You can't do this. This... this  _can't_ be happening."

"Come, now, Matthias," Marco said softly, with the same glint in his eyes that Didier Drogba had worn before taking the last penalty kick of the 2012 Champion's League final. "That's no way to talk about your  _roomie._ "

Mats turned to Jogi, hoping his wordless horror would express everything wrong with what was happening at that moment.

"As much as I want to put you two on opposite sides of the world, perhaps this arrangement will work," Jogi said contemplatively, the exact opposite of what Mats wanted to hear. "It will serve as punishment for your collective stupidity, you two being forced into close-quarters where you will annoy each other. Serves you right for being children. You're sharing a room."

" _Jogi_ ," Fips protested. "This punishment is because of a lack of focus, and you've put the most childish, unfocused players in the squad, who literally fight every second of the day,  _together._ This is the worst idea I've ever heard-"

"Who's coach?" Jogi said severely, and Fips turned to everyone else to convey his disbelief. But everyone was grinning. Mats and Marco being forced to share a room was bound to be a source of limitless entertainment. Nobody else seemed to share the concern that the hotel would be brought down by the amount of pettiness that was bound to be ricocheting off of the walls soon enough. Mats turned to Benni, who was fighting a smile as he patted his boyfriend's elbow sympathetically, and Mario and Marco grinned at each other.

With rooming arrangements decided and everyone but Mats pleased with who they had found, the team finally started making their way into the hotel. Manu was walking well ahead of everyone else, with Thomas not following him. Mesut fell by Sami, who had gotten his suitcase wheel stuck in a grate and was swearing as he struggled to pull it free.

"Happy about who you're with?" he asked, helping Sami pull his luggage out of the grate. Sami patted his arm in thanks.

"Yeah, I'm with Boa, there's worse people to be with, I suppose," Sami sighed. "Not that I had much choice. He practically forced me to be with him at gunpoint. What about you?"

"Lukas," Mesut said, shrugging. "I've roomed with him a couple of times at Arsenal, so it's not a big deal."

"A couple?" Sami said in surprise. "Do you not room with him all the time?"

"Not always, he rooms with Per mostly," Mesut said non-committedly. "I mostly room with Oli when we're away."

Sami said nothing.

When they entered the hotel, Jogi barely had time to tell them to be civilised before everyone was racing off to find their rooms. Jerome was waiting for Sami in their room, and when the midfielder entered, he grinned maliciously and gestured at the bed.

"I got the better one," he announced smugly. "Your one has weirder springs. You snooze you lose, kid."

"You cheating bastard," Sami said, annoyed as he heaved his luggage onto his own bed and bouncing up and down on the mattress to test if Jerome's conclusion was true. It was. Sami thought it was distinctly unsportsmanlike that Jerome had claimed a bed without having the honourary race from the doorway, but he also thought that it would require too much effort to argue about it.

Meanwhile, Manu was standing by his bed when Miro entered the room, staring down at the suitcase that had been hurled onto the mattress. Miro glanced at him warily as he placed his own belongings on the bed. He had never seen the goalkeeper in a mood like this. Manu tended to be quieter than Thomas, but to be entirely honest,  _everyone_ was. The keeper usually was quite energetic and positive, and never seemed downcast. Even after conceding a goal he got back up again and fought back harder. 

He hesitated, and then decided to speak. "Are you alright, Manu?"

Manu's expression gave him away- his smile didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah! Just thinking about something. So, um, Jogi wants us to get r-ready for training, right?"

"Yes," Miro said softly, his slight frown growing deeper. This seemed to be something serious, and he was concerned. "We should head towards the changing rooms, hm?"

"Yeah," Manu repeated, thoroughly avoiding Miro's gaze. "Yeah, we should. You're right."

He seemed to teeter on the edge of speech, giving Miro an odd, tremulous look, before he jerked his head slightly and decided against it. Miro, who had been waiting patiently to see if he would speak, sighed slightly. He hoped Thomas would tell him what was wrong.

Whilst this somewhat serious exchange was going on, a much less earnest conversation was going on just outside in the corridor. Marco and Mats were standing outside their room, both of them evaluating the situation inside. There were two beds in the room, and that meant one was better than the other. No matter how many times Fips said  _they were both the same bed, just hurry the fuck up and pick one,_ the fact of the matter was that the decision of who took which side held more weight than a club transfer decision. When you were a footballer and you spent a lot of time travelling to various hotels, you learned that swiftly. Mats still remembered the time he had actually fell through his bed onto the floor having jumped on it after a club victory.

"Listen," Marco said diplomatically, as Mats narrowed his eyes, trying to judge by the appearance of the beds which one he wanted. Which bed gave off the more comfortable aura? "How about I just-"

He didn't finish his sentence, because his sentence hadn't really been intended to be a sentence- it had intended to be a clever ruse. While Mats's attention was momentarily diverted from the beds, he struck- he darted forwards to reach a bed first. Mats yelled in fury and managed to catch him by the back of the shirt before he could get to his bed. Dejected that his plan hadn't worked, Marco returned to the doorway.

"You filthy cheating bastard," Mats growled. "You can't use dirty tactics here. If we're really going to be forced to share a room together, we're going to do it  _properly._ "

"That makes it sounds like you want us to-"

" _No._ Take that thought and incinerate it. Destroy it. It doesn't exist," Mats said firmly, looking a little sick as Marco grinned. "We're going to be fair and impartial. It's going to be a race to the best bed. We need to get someone who will fairly judge the race."

The second the words were out of his mouth Benni appeared behind them, having been looking for Mats. When he saw what they were doing, he sighed loudly. Why was it that such a high proportion of Die Mannschaft players tended to sigh so much? 

"Have you two seriously not picked your beds yet?" he asked in disbelief. 

"No, we have to have the  _race,_ Benedikt," Marco said insistently. "As Mats said, if we're going to be forced to share a room, we need to do it properly. With all the correct procedures in place."

"You literally  _just_ tried to distract me and get the better bed first-"

"Lies and libel-"

Benni pushed past them and entered their room, rolling his eyes so hard Marco was gently concerned that they would lodge at the back of his skull and never return to their normal position. " _I'll_ officiate this race. And then you two can hurry the hell up and get down to training. We've already wasted enough time in the day because of you idiots, I don't know  _what_ Jogi was thinking letting you two room together-"

"I know," Mats said darkly, while Marco looked mockingly offended.

" _Really._ You forget everything your Golden Boy has done for you, Matthias."

"Why do you keep calling me Matthias?"

"Isn't that your full name?"

"Enough!" Benni said, before Mats could respond to this and contribute to the inanity. "Are you two ready?"

"But we have a biased judge!" Marco protested. "What if he tries to help you win, Matthias?"

"Do you want Fips to come and see what you two are doing again?" Benni asked sweetly. "You can tell him that you haven't picked your bed because you haven't had the  _race_ to it yet. See where that gets you. You  _actual children._ "

"Okay, Benni is fine!" Marco said brightly. "Ready, Matthias?"

Mats grumbled incoherently in response, but he poised himself for the race. Benni stood further into the room, his face still contorted with exasperation, raising his hand to conduct the race. 

" _Eins, zwei, drei- go!_ "

The two of them bowled over each other to reach the right bed, leaving their luggage scattered in the doorway. Unfortunately, owing to the fact that Marco was a forward and Mats was a defender, the former reached it first. Swearing, Mats hit Marco's shoulder before stomping off to retrieve his suitcases. 

"It'll take more than self-righteousness to beat me!" Marco crowed triumphantly. He heaved himself off of his bed, snapping his fingers dramatically, and went to retrieve his own luggage. "Better luck next ti-  _HEY!_ "

Mats had darted past him holding his bags, and had taken the bed Marco had just claimed as the forward had left his sanctuary.

As the yelling began, Mesut, as was the norm, sighed. He didn't want to start training straight away, but Jogi seemed adamant about maximising efficiency.

Lukas was sullenly dragging his feet across the floor, flinging his belongings around. Mesut suspected he knew why. "Poldi, are you moping because you're not rooming with Basti?"

"Of course I am," Lukas bit at him. "I don't get to see him that much, and I see  _you_ all the time. This international break was  _supposed_ to be about spending as much time as possible with my  _love_ but  _apparently_ Jogi doesn't want us to get  _distracted._ "

"I thought the international break was meant to be about playing for your country?" Mesut said dryly. At Lukas's unimpressed look, he sighed yet again. "Honestly, Poldi, there's still literally every other hour of the day you're not spending in here to see him. It's not the end of the world."

"Yeah, well it's easy for  _you_ to say, you don't miss anyone as much as I miss him-"

Mesut rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because you're the only person in the world who misses anyone from this squad. News flash, I have lots of friends in the team too, and I miss Sami so much when he's not around. I know how you feel."

Lukas's eyes suddenly brightened. "You miss Sami, eh?"

"Of course I do," Mesut said flatly. "He's my best friend. It's not some big story."

"Of course. You two and your close  _platonic_ bond have withheld the strain of separation, I suppose," Lukas sighed.

"Why are you speaking like that? You sound like Marco," Mesut said suspiciously. "You know what, don't answer. Let's go."

He strode towards the exit of the room as Lukas watched him slyly, thinking about Fips and his no-interference policy. Honestly? They were the ones unravelling things for themselves. Perhaps, soon enough, there would be no  _need_ to interfere.

***

When everyone barring Mats and Marco had finished their run at the beginning of training, with Marco having been given an extra mile for calling Mats "a hairy bed thieving fucker" in the vicinity of Jogi, they all assembled at their different stations for the training session. Manu, Marc-Andre and Ron-Robert had gone off with the goalkeeper coach, with the outfield players all starting with circuits, all of them making faces at Mats and Marco as they passed.

As Toni, Leon and Jerome started off the circuits, the other players were being distracted by them and Mario was too busy waving at Marco from the other side of the field, Miro saw the perfect opportunity to talk to Thomas, who was picking at the hem of his jersey. He gently tapped the man on the shoulder, attracting his attention.

"Oh, Miro," Thomas said, looking relieved. "I thought you were Jogi."

"Why would you think that?" Miro asked, puzzled.

"I don't know. I just thought you were him. Don't ask me questions!" Thomas flapped his hands about before looking serious again. It was an uncharacteristic look. "Thank God you're here. Look, I know you want to ask me questions about what happened earlier."

"I do, actually," Miro said softly. "Manu seemed very out of it when we were in the room. I hope it was okay I asked him to be my roommate?"

"No, it was fine, it was perfect," Thomas said earnestly. "I'm glad it's you. You're understanding."

"Could I ask why you're so glad?" Miro asked, genuinely confused by the whole situation. "Can you tell me what's going on with Manu? Why was he telling you to 'drop it'? Is there something wrong with him that he can't change rooming arrangements? Not to sound nosey or anything, it is your business-"

"No, it's not being nosey, I know you're concerned," Thomas said, and then he hesitated. He glanced over to the other side of the field, where Manu, Marc-Andre and Ron-Robert were doing some drills with the goalkeeper coach, and then he rubbed his eyes. "I  _want_ to tell you. I just feel like Manu would be really angry with me."

Miro understood what was going on. It was a battle between Thomas's two instincts- concern for his boyfriend's wellbeing and respect for his privacy. He thought that Manu probably  _would_ be angry if Thomas told him what was happening. All he said, was, "I would never tell anybody else, or him. It is your secret and your decision. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but if you do, it would be completely confidential."

"Yeah," Thomas said vaguely. He looked more reassured. "You won't tell him I told you?"

"I won't say a single word," Miro said seriously.

"Yeah. No, this is for his own good. And you're rooming with him, so it makes sense for you to know," Thomas said in a low, tense voice. He went silent as Leon jogged back, looking delighted at a perfect circuit, and Joshua lined up for his turn. "This is going to sound strange and I want you not to judge him,  _please._ "

"I would never judge him." Miro was starting to get seriously worried, now. 

"Well..." Thomas hesitated some more, before he finally went for it. "Manu... has a problem."

Miro waited for him to continue as the team started yelling with laughter at Jerome, who had got his foot stuck in the net and was swearing loudly, trying to prise himself free.

"What sort of problem?" he asked, when it became clear Thomas would need prompting.

"Well..." He rubbed his nose. "It's a... it's, well... it's a night problem. A mental one. He's doesn't have a mental illness or anything, but... he has... well, he has nightmares."

Miro did not say anything, waiting patiently once more for Thomas to elaborate. The younger man was fidgeting a lot now, twiddling with his thumbs, unconsciously reaching to the back of his head to smooth down his hair, and glancing again at where the goalkeepers were gathered.

"They're not small nightmares," he said finally. "They're not just your occasional bad dream. They're... they're quite bad. They get worse in stressful times."

Miro's eyes softened. 

"He... he kind of... he reacts to them badly." Thomas nervously bounced up and down on the balls of his feet as Jerome finally released himself and raised his middle finger for everyone laughing to see, causing Jogi to tell him to do thirty push-ups as punishment. "He... he screams. A lot. And he cries. And thrashes around. And it's hard to wake him from them."

Now Miro understood. He understood Manu's reaction to Jogi forcing them to change roommates, and his anger at Thomas for trying to get Jogi to let them off. He felt a wave of sympathy rise inside of him, but Thomas hadn't finished speaking. It was clear he was venting something he hadn't spoken to anyone about.

"When we first roomed together, it was scary. It was so hard to get him out of that world he was in. As we grew closer and had a better bond with each other, it became easier for me to calm him down when he had one. But it's still difficult for me to do it now. It just hurts so much, Miro, so much, to see him in pain. To see how the anxiety gets to him. I've tried to tell him to get help, but he thinks they'll mock him, they'll stigmatise him for talking about his problems, that footballers shouldn't show vulnerability, and it's bullshit. He doesn't want anyone to know about it. That's why I was glad to see you were rooming with him, you're so kind, and you wouldn't judge him, and I know nobody else on this team would, but you're just more... more..." He didn't seem to be able to find a word for it. 

"I completely understand, Mulli," Miro said very softly- Thomas had to strain his ears to hear, as there was a surge of noise. Mats had just joined the rest of them after having finished his laps, grinning devilishly at Marco as he was forced to continue running.  "You don't want people to find out that Manu has this problem, sometimes it can feel very scary, knowing that other people are aware of your biggest vulnerabilities, especially when you're on such a huge public stage, and everything you do is scrutinised. I won't pretend that mental health problems are widely acknowledged in football. We're making developments in the sport, but hell, even wider society is less understanding of it. However, I really think that things won't change unless you try to speak out. Manu will continue to be miserable if he doesn't take the leap of faith and trust that others can help him."

"I know," Thomas said miserably. "But Manu thinks the media will never let it go, that fans would mock him, that he'd be the goalkeeper who's afraid. I haven't been able to persuade him otherwise. I've tried to tell him that mental health is such a serious issue, but he just... he just says that  _they're just nightmares, I can handle them._ "

Miro nodded in understanding. He understood the mindset. "But Manu must understand that mental health is just as important as physical health. To be a footballer requires just as much mindpower as it does physical power. But, of course, it's also more than football. He needs to be true to himself as  _Manu,_ not Manuel Neuer, Germany's number one goalkeeper."

"Yeah," Thomas said sadly. "You're right. I wish he could realise it."

"He could," Miro said gently. "He just needs time, and support. I know he doesn't want to talk to people about it, but perhaps you could ease him into a mindset where he trusts other people. Perhaps, as we're roommates for the rest of this break, I might get an opportunity to speak with him. If he has a nightmare, he could confide in me about it. And I could help to persuade him to get some help. It might be a long and painful process. Aller Anfang ist schwer. But once he's taken that first step, he'll find that it's easier to take many others."

Thomas was smiling in a rather watery way. "Oh, Miro. I knew it was a good idea to talk to you. Thank you so much."

"Don't worry, Mulli," Miro murmured, giving Thomas a brief hug. "We're a team. I'm always here to help my teammates, I have been for fifteen years. Thank you for telling me about this. Maybe now we can start to help Manu, and I'll be there for him if he has a nightmare again."

Before Thomas could burst into tears at his idol's expansive kindness, Jogi blasted his whistle.

"Klose, Muller, you're doing an awful lot of chatting over there!" he said threateningly. "You're up next for the circuits!"

Miro squeezed Thomas's elbow as Thomas quickly brushed his fist over his eyes, and then the two of them headed towards the circuits.

***

" _Will you stop it!_ " Marco cried, as Mats dispossessed him for the fifth time with a superb standing tackle.

Mats, who had taken control of the ball and casually flicked it backwards, smiled smugly. "What's the problem, Reus? Having trouble with the ball?"

As it turned out, Marco  _was_ having trouble with the ball. Perhaps spurred by every injustice Marco had ever inflicted upon him, Mats had made it his personal mission to steal the ball off of him at every opportunity during one of their practice half-field games. Jerome hadn't fared so well, having been nutmegged by Joshua, who was crowing about it to anyone who was listening.  _Why_ had he decided to become a world class defender when he was facing  _Marco_ of all people?

"Good work, Hummels," Jogi called approvingly from the side, where he had watched Mats dispossess Marco. "Not so good work, Boateng."

Jerome gave Mats a filthy look, mirroring Marco perfectly, before returning to his position.

Mats reacted to Jogi's praise by placing a hand on his heart and acting as though the man had just offered him a knighthood. It was a reaction on par with Marco's best melodrama, and the forward didn't like it one bit. He hated receiving a taste of his own medicine- it tasted bitter and infuriating  _and he wanted to vomit it out onto Mats's stupid ugly face._

"Let's try it again, shall we?" Mats asked sweetly, as Marco stormed back to his own position with the ball beneath his feet.  _Oh,_ he was going to nutmeg the stupid, cocky bastard and score through the cones if it was the last thing he did. And if he didn't, well, dispossessing Marco would be the last thing  _Mats_ did.

 _Come on, Reus,_ he thought to himself, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, getting ready to show Mats up.  _You're a yellow and black god. You're a hornet. Sting him right where it hurts._

He set off dribbling, his lip caught between his teeth in concentration. Mats had come out to meet him again.  _Surprise him,_ Marco thought.  _Feint._

He made as though he was going to take the ball to the left, but instead moved to the right,  _but_ instead moved back to the left again in a double feint that would've beaten any defender. Mats, however, had anticipated his move correctly, and had slid to get the ball. But Marco managed to jump over him and keep control, and yelled in triumph, making his pursuit towards the cone. But then, out of nowhere,  _Jerome_ stole the ball from him, passing it back to Mats, who was grinning.

" _YOU CAN'T DO THAT!_ " Marco yelled, as Jerome took a bow.

"Yes, he can," Mats said, high-fiving Jerome. "Better luck next time, Reus. Maybe you need a break, you're looking out of form..."

The obsceneties that poured out of Marco's mouth earned him another lap around the field, and Jerome and Mats bumped shoulders. "Serves him right."

Mesut and Sami, on the other side of things, were taking a break, drinking water. They had just done a vigorous passing drill, with Mesut by far excelling and Sami looking to work on his long balls. They were pleased with the day's work, however, and couldn't stop grinning as they drained the ice cold drinks and poured some over their faces.

"You're looking amazing, Mes, honestly," Sami said earnestly. once he had run his hands through his short hair and brushed some water from his forehead. "If you take this form back to Arsenal, you'll really be able to shape things up again, maybe get that away win versus Bournemouth."

"STOP." Mesut threw some water over Sami, and the central midfielder raised his arms over his head to protect himself. "But thanks, Sami. You're not looking too shabby yourself. That diagonal pass nearly gave me an orgasm."

It was a lewd comment that Sami responded to by choking halfway through a sip of water. Though  _why_ was he doing it? He had heard worse. "It's the only time you'll see play that good, heh?"

Mesut launched himself at Sami and started hitting him, but Sami easily restrained him by grabbing his wrists and putting him in a headlock. Best friends or not, Arsenal taunts were the way to set Mesut off.

Jogi walked past as they were wrestling. Without even looking at them, he said, "Do you want to join Reus on his fifth extra lap, Ozil and Khedira?"

"We're good, Jogi," Mesut said instantly, at the same time Sami said, "Mes, does, Jogi, he needs to keep up his dropping form."

What Mesut said next had him joining Marco, who grinned at him in greeting as he approached.

***

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Fips:** Everybody.

 **Fips:** I don't know where you all are but I can't make this announcement at dinner so I have to use this godforsaken group chat.

 **Fips:** I don't like going against our esteemed coach.

 **Fips:** But sometimes you have to put your foot down.

 **Fips:** We need to change our rooming arrangements.

 **Marco:** a big agree

 **Mats:** aw, i thought we were ROOMIES

 **Basti:** i'm offendd i want to room with lukas but?? what s wrong with me?

 **Fips:** Okay not all of us.

 **Fips:** I mostly mean Mats and Marco.

 **Jerome:** y

 **Jerome:** its funny

 **Fips:** Jerome it is not.

 **Fips:** Was that razor fiasco funny?

 **Marc-Andre:** Yes

 **Basti:** yes

 **Lukas:** yes

 **Mario Got:** yes

 **Marco:** yes

 **Mats:** fuckdg no

 **Bernd:** i wasn't there but it SOUNDED funny so a yes from me

 **Marc-Andre:** Lol you weren't there

**Bernd:**

**Jonas:** Kind of

 **Jonas:** It was also kind of terrifying

 **Benni:** Honestly it IS funny but it's also stupid

 **Benni:** And I know I'm meant to be completely exasperated by this

 **Benni:** (I am)

 **Benni:** BUt there are just some losing battles Fips

 **Fips:** We can easily just swap Marco or Mats with somebody.

 **Jerome:** i think the fuck not

 **Jerome:** nobody agree with him

 **Jerome:** we need them to be together to witness Drama on a big Scale

 **Leon:** nobody agrees with fips anyway

 **Leon:** besides jogi threatened us with benchness for our next fixture if we did

 **Leon:** he might make us do it again as well

 **Leon:** besides if this goes catastrophically wrong he'll see it was a mistake to mix us up in the first place

 **Jonas:** I don't think it's catastrophic, I mean we all get along

 **Jonas:** Apart from Mats and Marco of course

 **Joshua:** jonas sweetie you can't break up the gays

 **Julian D:** They conspire

 **Julian D:** They get aggressive

**Julian D: Just look at Marc-Andre**

**Marc-Andre:** F

 **Marc-Andre:** O

 **Marc-Andre:** R

 **Marc-Andre:** T

 **Marc-Andre:** H

 **Marc-Andre:** E

 **Marc-Andre:** L

 **Marc-Andre:** O

 **Marc-Andre:** V

 **Marc-Andre:** E

 **Marc-Andre** O

 **Bernd:** nobody likes u

 **Marc-Andre:** F

 **Marc-Andre:** G

 **Marc-Andre:** O

 **Marc-Andre:** D

 **Marc-Andre:** YOU SON OF A BITCH BERND

 **Julian B:** are u serious bernd

 **Julian B:** es war perfekt

 **Julian B:** im actually annoyed at u for breaking up that perfect arrangement of letters

 **Bernd:** what was i going to do? let him look impressive?

 **Marco:** he doesn't need you to let him look impressive

**Bernd: listen here**

**Fips:** Every time.

 **Fips:** Every time I try to say something of importance.

 **Fips:** The conversation goes off into a land of stupidity and incompetence.

 **Fips:** Every. Single. Time.

 **Fips:** It's my entire life.

 **Fips:** Just you all wait.

 **Fips:** It will come and bite you in the ass.

 **Fips:** It always does.

 **Fips:** This arrangement is bad news.

 **Jerome:** what's the worst that can happen smh

 **Jerome:** we'll live

 **Leon:** famous last words?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lil note: if i forgot some players sorry i tried to make a convoluted list of rooming arrangements but then my brain exploded
> 
> so i wanted to talk a lil in this post-chap note about the importance of football in my life?? and how im writing football to be this big momentous thing which actually is important if ur a player and even just a spectator?? and how its not just a game?? and can affect mental health?? this is just some personal background and if ur not interested just skip it lol thanks for reading!!! <333
> 
> im 19, and at one point of my life i dreamed of being a player in the fc bayern women's team. unfortunately, as always with aspiring footballers, i got hit by a knee injury and i got knocked down to last division women's football. i play as a keeper. surely people would think that being a player in the lowest division and not being able to reach professional standards would mean i would take football less seriously, but that's completely not the case. football is a game where for 90 minutes your world shifts and your life becomes about the ball. being a keeper is about split-second, vital decisions and living in the moment and a loss in a game can really depress me even if it has no weight. i have a big emotional connection to the game and with my team and i've known it since i was 3. 
> 
> footballers can suffer from mental health problems because of how dependent on the game they are. following a local cup game when i conceded a game winning penalty, i felt really upset. the game is full of emotions and that's why this team, with its close knit band of players, and their actions and their wins and their losses, is so important. the team are always there for each other, but i wish the same could be said for all of football. i wish there was more empathy about how bad results and the like can really affect a footballer's life. if they aren't doing well, they can feel worthless. thats why in this fic of mostly fluffy stupidity, ive included manu's more serious plotline because i really want people to realise all of this. 
> 
> sorry for this rambling bit of disconnectedness, kudos if youve remained this long, im not even entirely sure what the point of this was, but im feeling emotional rn because it's the 9th death anniversary of robert enke, and oh how i wish people had recognised mental health problems in football. sorry for the seriousness. as always i love yall, thanks for reading, to the next chap.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.1  
> part 11!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's up gang! so this international break is nearly reaching the end, and there'll be another matchday soon (germany vs russia- i'm going to *subtly* change it from peru to russia) and then we'll be back to the club life and bayern won the bundesliga nonsense until the next one. i'm actually more used to writing prose now than the actual group chat business but there'll be another international break anywayyyy. and i can write club life shenanigans.
> 
> hope yall enojoy this chap!!!

 

Thomas had just finished towelling off his hair when he realised he was not alone in the changing room.

As he raised his head and looked upon the other person in the room, he felt a strange new sensation of wariness. There was Manu, standing in front of him, a tentative look on his face, his lips quirked up at the sides in an uncertain smile.

"Hey," Thomas said, his voice slightly rough- he hadn't used it in a while (which meant for about thirty minutes). "You good?"

"Ja," Manu said softly. "Und du?"

"Mir geht's gut."

The two of them looked at each other for a while, before Manu's eyes creased and he laughed. It was a deep, warm laugh that had Thomas laughing too. The two of them walked towards eachother, Manu taking Thomas's head in his hands- which was odd, he was usually the far more shy of the two of them- and leaned forwards to kiss him. The kiss lasted several moments and it spoke of a denial of the truth that was lingering in both of their heads. When they pulled apart, Thomas almost didn't want Manu to say what he was going to say.

"I'm sorry."

"Nein," Thomas said quietly, shaking his head. "What is there to apologise for? I understand your anger."

"It wasn't anger," Manu said in a pained voice. "It was... it was pig-headedness. I shouldn't have ignored you today. I'm sorry. I just didn't want to accept what you were saying, or to feel like I was being, being a  _burden._ "

"You're never a burden." Thomas caressed the side of Manu's face, his face sad. "But you know that what I'm saying... It can't be ignored."

"Of course I know," Manu said quietly. He looked agonised for a moment. "I've been thinking about what to do. I don't want  _anyone_ to know about this. If we went to Jogi and asked him to let us change the rooming arrangements, he'd want to know why. And then it'd be a cycle of  _you should get therapy, a footballer can't feel like this,_ blah blah blah. I don't want to deal with that. I don't want Miro to deal with it either."

"You can't keep hiding," Thomas murmured. "It'll come out eventually. You know it will."

Manu nodded. "Yeah, I do. And I don't know what I'll do what it does. I just can't deal with it right now. This... this is the worst time to deal with it. People are questioning me already. What will they do when they find out I'm a certified loony-"

" _Don't_ call yourself that-"

"Is it normal, Thomas?" Manu said wearily, which was almost worse than him snapping. "Is it normal to see such things? I live a priviliged life. I'm a rich footballer. There are people who have it worse than me. They'll wonder what the hell is wrong with me that I see such violent, horrible things in my sleep. Then they'll say I'm weak. That I can't handle the pressure. That I should be grateful that I have things so easy. That I should deal with the imaginary bad because I have the real good."

" _They_ are full of shit," Thomas said coldly. "This isn't about what other people think. Mental health is just as important as physical health, Manu!"

Manu actually chortled, as if he didn't think Thomas was being serious. Thomas felt infuriated. "Oh, really. Ha! Like anybody cares about that. I'm here to catch balls and save my team from losing. That's all anybody cares about me for. For a few moments per game I'm forced to come to life and if I make a mistake then I'm worthless. They don't give a good god damn about my  _mental_ health."

"What will make you understand?" Thomas said frustratedly. "Others don't matter! It's about  _you!_ "

Sighing, Manu pressed his forehead against Thomas's. "Thommy, this is stupid. We just keep going around in circles and fighting about this. I can deal with it. I've been dealing with it for a while. It's just a minor inconvenience compared to the multitude of shit things that happens in the world. What is telling others going to achieve?  _Oh, Manuel Neuer has nightmares, just like plenty of other people in the world, stop the press, waste people's time._ "

Thomas stared at Manu in disbelief. How much pride could one person  _have?_

"We should go to join the others," Manu said firmly, before Thomas could disabuse him of these notions. "I'm starving, that training session really took it out of me. You good with that?"

 _No,_ Thomas thought angrily, but Manu's expression was so closed off he knew there was no point of arguing further. He just hoped Miro would be able to penetrate Manu's thick armour of denial and get him to stop avoiding the obvious goddamned truth. And  _he_ was meant to be the obstinate one.

"Fine," he said flatly, taking Manu's outstretched hand and resisting the urge to squeeze it overly hard. " _Lass uns gehen._ "

***

By the time dinner rolled around and everyone was finally in one place again, having dispersed after training (the couples, mostly, wanted time alone), Mats was at his breaking point. Although he had schooled Marco thoroughly in the half-field defensive maneuvers for a while, the bastard had nutmegged him during a proper practice game after a momentary lapse of concentration, and Marco had scored from it. Jogi, who had been yelling criticisms for everyone to hear during the game, had actually given him praise for the move, and Marco had not stopped crowing about it ever since.

"I outdid myself," Marco said smugly, through a mouthful of bread, but then he paused, as if in thought. "No, wait. I'm always this good. So what I really mean is, I  _did_ myself."

Mats pointed at Marco with his knife, almost knocking over his glass of water. "You, Reus, I would sell to the devil for a single breadcrumb of schnitzel."

"My net worth is higher than yours by like _eight million-_ "

"One breadcrumb!" Mats yelled, accidentally spraying himself with sprouts.

"Close your mouth when you're eating," Benni scolded, passing him a napkin. "Seriously, can't you two give it a rest for a single moment?"

" _We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit._ So I can't stop, Benedikt," Marco declared, stealing a potato from Mario's plate and wincing as he got jabbed in the side as payback.

Sami leaned forwards thoughtfully to take a sip of water, as Mats spluttered indignantly. There was  _only_ so much arrogance one man could display before they collapsed like a Jenga tower of carefully hidden self-doubt.  _What_ was Marco insecure about?

"Excellent is a habit, huh?" Sami said pensively, a spark of deviousness in his eyes that Mesut read correctly. "Explains a  _lot_ about-"

"If you finish that sentence I will take the fork I am holding in my right hand and impale both of your eyes. I will withdraw your eyes from your skull. Then I will dip your eyes in sauce and eat them," Mesut said serenely. 

Sami took Mesut's right hand (the man blinked), and moved it towards his eyes, his expression completely challenging. "Do it, pussy."

Mesut's eyes narrowed. "Don't test me, Khedira."

The two of them did not break eye contact for several moments. Those around them were staring in open mouthed disbelief as they observed the waves of sexual tension that had suddenly crashed around the dining room. It consumed everything. Even Jogi looked slightly windswept from his spot at the end of the table. Eventually, Mario proved to be the weakest link once again, slamming his head down onto the table with his shoulders silently heaving, as Marco slung an arm around his shoulder in utmost solidarity for his plight. Jerome buried his face in his glass of water, but emerged again, hiccoughing.

As always, it was Sami again who noticed that everyone was staring, and by extension, silently howling with mirth, and he dropped Mesut's arm so suddenly it slammed onto the table. Mesut looked surprised, especially as Sami's cheeks were dusted with pink, but he shrugged and returned to his food. Jerome suddenly stood up, claiming that he had to go and talk to Thomas about something, and limped away because he was doubled over with laughter.

It was getting out of control. It seemed that every single exchange with Sami and Mesut these days would be fraught with sexual tension that would never be resolved. One day Mario's ribs would  _actually_ split. Though, if Sami was beginning to notice...

Perhaps it would take after-game euphoria to boost them forwards. Maybe this  _Nations League_ would be a perfect way to get a big international win, and maybe Sami and Mesut would, in the passion and emotions of the aftermath, would look at each other and realise,  _this wouldn't have been half as enjoyable without each other..._

Though, Marco thought wisely, as he always did- they might be stuck in some sort of warped recurrence. Maybe things like this would just keep on happening, and in the end it would amount to nothing. Maybe the separation of club life from an international career would make it difficult to keep a consistent feeling of hidden horniness. Maybe every time they left for their respective countries and returned to each other again, they would be back to stage one- absolute fucking denial.

It was all about breaking the deadlock. They were stuck in a sort of dance, like a constant tap-dance that never ceased, a consistent  _movement_ but never any  _settlement._ It was like running on a treadmill- you never went anywhere. Something needed to happen to shatter the glass table- ceiling? Whatever it was. And when the painted world of straightness was removed, perhaps Sami and Mesut would realise that what they needed was each other.

But it _was_ difficult taking that first step into intimate love, Marco was aware of that. It could take courage, especially because it meant admitting things to yourself you had never thought about. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Marco had not thrown himself at Mario's feet and instantly declared his love. He had thought about himself, about what he wanted to share, about how he wanted his life to be. Being a professional footballer meant you had certain committments and dedications. It was something of a selfish sport despite being a team sport. You wanted the best for yourself, that's how you got into the game. Transfers were difficult to deal with, especially with a significant other. There was never a firm feeling of being settled down, never a desire  _to_ settle down. The Bayern/Dortmund Mario saga was an example of that... and it had not been pretty.

But, he thought to himself, tilting his head thoughtfully to the side, if anyone could break through those barriers, it was those two. They had the love inside of them. They had respect (mostly) for each other's careers. They had dealt with being apart. They had an unbreakable friendship. They just needed to realise that life was short and few people made such a huge impact on your life. You had to take a leap into faith sometimes, even if you were scared. Perhaps it would not be long now.

He felt a nudge in his side and looked up. Mario was looking at him curiously. "You've been conspiciously silent, baby. What are you thinking about?"

Marco thought fast. "Dick."

"How profound," Mario said, having laughed in surprise. "Well, you're not going to get any for a while, because of a  _certain_ arrangement..."

"Says who?" Marco demanded. "Mats doesn't mind if you sneak into our room-"

"Yes. Yes he does. I don't know how you could possibly think he  _wouldn't._ "

"We can always get up there after dinner," Marco said slyly, ignoring Mats spluttering. "I feel like I haven't reminded you how much I love you recently... And life's too short to not tell you it every day..."

He looked at Sami out of the corner of his eyes. The man was not paying attention to their conversation. Instead, he was staring down at his plate, with Mesut's head rested on his shoulder as they spoke to one another.

***

That evening, they watched England face off Croatia in a Nations League game- or rather, trash talked England as they lazily chatted with one another about this and that. It was the best kind of night for Fips- it seemed that everyone didn't have the energy to be uproariously stupid, just faintly stupid, and that was acceptable, he supposed. He himself was contentedly drinking a glass of water while watching England's midfield failing to create and half talking to Robert, who Jerome had on a video call.

"How are you, cap'n?" Robert asked, the brightness of his smile even evident through the video call. "Faring with the team alright?"

"As well as one can," Fips said honestly. "Which is to say, not well at all. It's bad enough dealing with the Bayern lot. It seems like Germany consistently produces complete toddlers in their lineups."

"You love us real- you have a healthy resp- you tolera- you're aware of our existence?" Jerome had to correct himself three times, as Fips reacted to everything he said with a look. 

"Too right I'm aware of your existence," Fips said darkly, as Lukas launched a paper aeroplane across the room that managed to poke him on the nose. He picked up the aeroplane, tore it into two, and placed it neatly onto the arm of the sofa as Lukas made an annoyed noise and set to making another one to throw at someone else.

Robert laughed loudly, and the expression on Jerome's face was sickeningly soft. None of these people had any spine, these days. A  _laugh_ could turn them into mush. "You shouldn't be complaining, cap. We're winning for you, aren't we? You wouldn't have the Champions League to your name without u- well, no, actually, not me. _Them._ "

"Right," Fips said dryly, as Robert looked suddenly glum. "If you had to deal with Mats and Marco, you wouldn't be so complacent, mark my words."

"Why, what have they done now?" Robert asked eagerly. 

"Oh!" Jerome let out a strangled laugh. "I completely forgot to tell you. Marco and Mats got forced into rooming with each other."

" _What?_ " Robert burst out laughing. "Whose stroke of genius was that?"

"Jogi's." Fips scowled. "I knew from the second he told us we were changing rooming arrangements that those two would end up together. It's Murphy's Law. In this team, it's the only fucking law that applies to this dimension. Everything goes wrong. It was poetic, really."

Robert was still laughing, wiping his eyes. "Jeri, I expect a full report."

"You've got it, baby." Jerome winked.

"Look, Marco, it'd be one thing if you were just an average, run of the mill dickhead who's easy to ignore. But instead you're an average, run of the mill dickhead who makes it your sole purpose to gain attention and be annoying. You're barely even a regular, functioning person. You're just narcisissm in a bag of skin and calcium-deficient bones-"

"And you, you're like, like a twelve on the fucking-boring-garbage-person-ometer, you're, you're so dense light bends around you!"

Robert roared with mirth, having heard Marco's insult float through the screen. "Okay, you can't deny, Marco's good at this."

"Then, Lewandowski, you and I have vastly different meanings of the word 'good'. 'Good' for me is maturity, quiet enjoyment and acknowledgement that we are leading adult lives."

"And 'good' to me is having fun in life."

"That's where you and Fips part ways," Jerome chuckled, as Fips gave them a burning look. Overall, he was quite sure his idea was fun was far different from Lewandowski's idea of fun, or the rest of this damn team's idea of fun, and that, he thought wryly to himself, was a relief.

***

It was nighttime. Manu had been watching time tick away with apprehension as the team had lazed around in the common room, and now Jogi had poked his head into the room, demanding that they all get to sleep for a long day of training tomorrow. Thomas had given Manu a look that spoke a thousand words, trying to reassure him. Manu responded with a shrug that managed to eloquently express his resignation to the fact he would not be sleeping that night, and that he had made his peace with exhaustion. Sadly, from the outside, it still looked like a shrug.

"I love you," Thomas whispered, wrapping his arms around Manu's neck, his lips just touching his boyfriend's skin, causing warmth to travel throughout Manu's body. "You'll be okay. You'll be safe. I love you."

"Mm," was all Manu said back, kissing Thomas back.

He walked past Marco and Mario, who were also wrapped up in each other, and Mesut and Sami, who gave each other a hug, and entered his room. Miro was already there, stretching and yawning, wearing his night clothes. _He was tired. Think about that, Manu._ When he saw Manu, he gave a tentative smile. 

"Hello, Manu, are you feeling alright?" he asked, pulling back his bedsheets. Manu offered a non-committal nod in response, rummaging for his toothbrush.

"Yeah, I'm great," he said, pulling out his brush and some toothpaste. He didn't like hotel toothpaste. "Just gonna go, and, get ready for bed. For a long, refreshing night of sleep. Ready for feeling, um, well-rested."

 _What was that?_ he asked himself, as he turned around and lumbered to the bathroom, feeling Miro's eyes on his back. He made sure he took his time, applying his toothpaste to his brush with military precision, and practically attacking his teeth, staring at himself in the mirror. There was a simple solution to his problems. All he needed to do was  _not sleep._ He wasn't sure why the genius idea hadn't occurred to him in all his hours of panicking. It was easy! All he had to do was watch an entire box-set on his phone, or scroll mindlessly on social media, or even engage in  _bayern_ _won the bundesliga._ He had heard a fact about how blue light emitted from phones could keep you awake. It was simple, clever, and everyone benefitted. He benefitted from not having a nightmare, Miro benefitted from not waking up, Thomas benefitted from not having to be worried sick...

When he returned to his room, Miro was already under the covers. "I'm an old man, Manu. I can't stay up until four A.M, sorry to disappoint."

"Ha, don't worry about it. If you stayed up too late we'd have to bring out the walker in training."

A pillow found Manu's head. Manu tossed it back.

"As a matter of fact,  _I_ am going to sleep," Manu announced, drawing back his bedcovers with an almost indecent verve. "I am going to climb into bed and fall into a slumber and when I wake up I'll feel fresh and renewed."

Miro peered at Manu from where he was lying in bed. "Good to hear it."

Manu smiled back at him until Miro flipped the light-switch, plunging the room into darkness. His easy grin slid off his face like mud.

 _Easy, Manu,_ he thought to himself, taking out his phone.  _All you have to do is stay awake._

***

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Manu:** Proposition

 **Manu:** I think we should ban nighttime

 **Jonas:** It is 3 in the morning Manu

 **Manu:** Exactly my point

 **Manu:** It is 3 in the morning

 **Marc-Andre:** What's the point in there?

 **Toni:** I really need to turn my vibrator off.

 **Manu:** No, don't

 **Manu:** You need to be woken up from the sham we call sleep

 **Manu:** Wait did you say vibrator

 **Toni:** Why did humans build autocorrect

 **Manu:** First of all I GIGGLED that tickled me

 **Manu:** Second of all

 **Manu:** I need thoughts on this proposition

 **Manu:** Consider what sleep actually is

 **Manu:** It's like, 5 hours of the day where you're unconscious and doing nothing productive

 **Manu:** Life is too short to waste time on it

 **Manu:** What if during sleep, there's a supernova or something, but nobody sees it because they're all closing their eyes and being stupid

 **Marco:** did u get ur hands on alcohol

 **Marco:** because if u did im coming to ur room

 **Manu:** No

 **Manu:** I'm drunk on careful thought, my friend

 **Manu:** Late night is the best time for serious contemplation

 **Manu:** I think we should do everything at night

 **Marco:** i do some things at night

 **Marco:** because it's socially unacceptable to do it in broad daylight and in public apparently

 **Toni:** That is... disgusting

 **Marco:** **it's human.**

 **Manu:** But do you see my point

 **Manu:** Life could end tomorrow

 **Manu:** We could, like, die and what if we died in our sleep

 **Manu:** That would be horrible

 **Manu:** The last thing you'd be doing is drooling unproductively

 **Manu:** So that's my motion, ban sleeping

 **Toni:** Manu, my motion will be violently strangling you.

 **Manu:** You're not well-versed in the art of late-night thoughtfulness, Toni.

 **Manu:** Violent threats aren't philosophical and outside the box.

 **Toni:** Your head will be outside the box

 **Manu:** You're right it is

 **Manu:** My thoughts are so innovative

 **Manu:** After football I'll be an inventor

 **Manu:** An inventor of good ideas

 **Marco:** manu seriously lead me towards whatever ur wasted on right now

 **Marco:** it'll help blot out the tide of relentless entropy that is life

 **Marco:** and the sound of mats snoring

 **Marco:** i kind of want to get two cotton buds and put them up his nose

 **Manu:** That's also not late-night thoughtfulness

 **Manu:** That's just stupidity

 **Marco:** i'll have u know

 **Marco:** i'm coasting towards enlightenment

 **Marco:** the sight of mats looking stupid is what fills me with contentment

**Marco:**

**Manu:** Marco

 **Manu:** You are stupid

 **Marco:** speak for yourself

 **Marco:** im not the one who's somehow found a way to get off their face

 **Marco:** seriously i could do with a drink please manu.

 **Manu:** Again

 **Manu:** I'm not off my face

 **Marc-Andre:** Yeah well

 **Marc-Andre:** You sure sound like it

 **Marc-Andre:** Go to sleep

 **Manu:** No

 **Manu:** It's against my principles

 **Manu:** You guys are awake anyway

 **Toni:** Yes, because you woke us up

 **Manu:** I was doing you a favour

 **Marco:** honey

 **Marco:** go to sleep

 **Manu:** Not for the wide world

 **Manu:** You guys are all weak

 **Manu:** This is why I'm the best goalkeeper of all time

 **Manu:** No offence Marc-Andre

 **Manu:** I can withstain anything

 **Marc-Andre:** What does withstain mean

 **Marc-Andre:** Do you mean withstand

 **Manu:** It means you're in love with Bernd

 **Manu:**  Erbsenzähler

**Marc-Andre: Look**

**Marc-Andre:** Your late night thoughtfulness is more like late night dumbassery at this point

 **Marc-Andre:** I'll let that comment pass because you're clearly going through something

 **Manu:** That's where you're wrong _amigo_

 **Manu:** The only thing I'm going through is a self revelation

 **Marc-Andre:** Existential crisis?

 **Manu:** That's literally the opposite of what I said

 **Manu:** I'm completely fine

 **Manu:** You're all just boring

 **Manu:** Hosenscheißeren

 **Marc-Andre:** Whatever you say, Manu.

 **Marc-Andre:** What am I even doing talking to you

 **Marc-Andre:** I'm probably going to be starting in 2 days i need to be fit

 **Marc-Andre:** Goodnight Manu sweet dreams

 **Manu:** BAD night

***

The next morning, Thomas woke up at around seven o'clock completely naturally, his internal body clock probably setting an alarm to alert him to worry about Manu. He groped for his phone, picking it up to check to see if he had received any texts in the middle of the night. He hadn't. Instead,  _bayern_ _won the bundesliga_ had many new notifications.

Thomas's eyebrows continuously raised as he scrolled through Manu's late night texts, and all the jigsaw pieces fell into place. And he sighed, very deeply, as he realised his boyfriend had combatted the night's bad dreams by not sleeping at all.

"Oh,  _Schatz,_ " he murmured to himself, as Mario turned in his bed with a grunt. "That's how you're going to play it. You idiot."

He swiped through his apps and then found his last conversation with Miro, which had been about the impracticality of skirts. He started tapping out a message.

_Private chat between Thomas Muller and Miroslav Klose_

**Thomas:** hey

 **Thomas:** u awake

 **Miro:** I a

 **Miro:** I am now

 **Thomas:** let me guess what ur typing rn is that manu isn't in bed

 **Miro:** Yes

 **Miro:** He is not here

 **Thomas:** did he sleep at all?

 **Miro:** I am not sure

 **Miro:** I fell asleep

 **Miro:** Sorry Thomas

 **Miro:** I wasn't woken by nihtmare .

 **Thomas:** don't worry miro don't apologise

 **Thomas:** that idiot didn't sleep

 **Thomas:** fuck if he's going to be THAT LEVEL OF STUBBORN

 **Thomas:** im pissed

 **Miro:** Just saw group chat

 **Miro:** Silly boy

 **Miro:** Should I find him

 **Thomas:** no

 **Thomas:** i will

 **Thomas:** u just relax and go back to sleep

 **Miro:** Ok

 **Miro:** If you end me i will help

 **Thomas:** what

 **Miro:** If you nee d me I will help

 **Thomas:** you got it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do you know what i've realised? there are two many damn people who's names begin with "m" in germany!!!! i keep getting the m's all mixed up!!! i realised halfway through writing the beginning scene thomas was caressing marco's face and i was like ?? and then i was like, shit i meant manu!
> 
> that profound comment aside, dont yall get too comfortable with the relative calm and non-eventfulness of this chapter. wigs will soon be snatched.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.1  
> part 12!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is ein bischen delayed erryone, i've been in koln for the past couple of days and i had a match today (which i kept a clean sheet in :)) so i haven't had much time to write. but now im back home!!!
> 
> hope you enjoy!!!

It didn't take Thomas long to find his boyfriend- not that he was expecting it to. Manu was sitting alone on a sofa in the dimly lit common room when Thomas entered it, staring blankly at the TV, with his eyes bloodshot and a heartbreaking look of despair on his face. 

Thomas did not speak as he walked over to the sofa, settling himself besides Manu. In a similar vein, Manu did not acknowledge him. For a few minutes the two of them silently watched an advert involving a woman washing her hair with orange scented shampoo, and then Manu mumbled something. But it was in such a small, strangled voice that Thomas didn't hear what was being said.

"What did you say?" he asked softly, his eyes slowly turning from the brand name flashing on the screen to his boyfriend's broken expression. Manu's eyes were twitching. It was clear he was forcing them open.

"I said... 'm sorry," Manu croaked, his voice rough from tiredness. "'M such a goddamn idiot."

"I'm not disagreeing." Thomas's voice wasn't harsh. The white-hot anger he had been feeling as he had strode out of his room to find his boyfriend had faded at the sight of him looking so small. "I can't believe you. Of all the things you decide to do, you decide not to sleep at all. Are you even aware of how much of a wreck you look? You're shaking. Jesus Christ, Manu."

Manu leaned forwards, rubbing his eyes whilst making a discontented noise. Indeed, there was a slight tremor in his hands, and his leg was bopping nervously up and down. There was a sort of exhausted energy about him, like his body was using up the last of its stores of strength and was soon set to be running on empty. Thomas watched him for a while, trying to combat the waves of powerful frustration that had returned inexplicably by keeping his expression decidedly neutral, biting down the urge to start screaming at his boyfriend at the top of his voice.

"I know it was stupid," Manu said finally, giving Thomas a look that was almost pleading. "But what was I to do?"

"What were you to do?" Thomas asked in cold disbelief. A muscle was now jumping in his jaw. "I don't know, Manu. Take care of yourself, maybe? How are you expecting to train while you're in this condition?"

He really didn't give a good god damn about training, but he had finally come to the conclusion that trying to sway Manu with personal, emotional arguments wasn't likely to be effective. Perhaps targetting his professional life, the football side of things, would be a better way to get him to see the consequences of his actions. He was trying his damnedest not to be argumentative- if he sounded overly angry, it would give Manu more incentive to be defensive rather than listen to him. Perhaps making him feel guilty would work better than trying to get him to see reason.

"I'm not starting versus Russia."

Thomas actually laughed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Are you serious? That's your reasoning? You're not starting, so you're perfectly obligated to mess yourself up?"

Manu flinched at the ice in his tone, and leaned away from him. "It means that I have more leeway to."

"And when Jogi yells at you the length of Dortmund for not playing well?"

"It's better than the alternative," Manu said quietly. "I don't care what Jogi says to me, I didn't want to burden Miro, I didn't want to cause any trouble. I've said it time and time again, it'd only bring up awkward questions."

"That's what you're more worried about?" Thomas shook his head, taking a deep breath to control his frustration. "Du bist unglaublich, Manuel."

Manu flinched again at the use of his full name. "Was willst du von mir?"

"You know what I want."

"Well, you're not going to get it!" Manu hissed, now sounding fierce. The expression on his face was somewhat scary- his bloodshot, dilated eyes burned with anger. "We keep going around and around in circles! I''m getting goddamn sick of it! I don't want to talk to  _anyone_ about this! I don't like thinking about my nightmares, Thomas! It's bad enough experiencing them! Dwelling on them only increases the power they have over me! They're terrifying! They make me feel  _sick!_ It's not so easy to just start a conversation about them and pour out all the... all the horrifying things I see in them!"

Thomas's face softened considerably, and a seed of guilt was sown inside of his stomach. But he didn't back down. "I know, Manu. I know how terrifying they are, they scare me hearing about them. And I know you just want to act like they don't exist. But if you don't do something about it, you'll be stuck in this predicament forever. Starting is  _always_ the hardest part, but once you take that hard first step you can take many others!"

"You keep  _saying_ that you know it's a difficult first step, but you're still pressuring me to talk about it as if it's as easy as telling a doctor I have a stomach-ache!" Manu exclaimed, throwing his head backwards against the wall and closing his eyes. "You don't understand! You think that the only thing that matters is how  _I_ feel, but that's just a naive way to look at things! Our whole job, our career, is about putting on a performance! Millions of spectators follow us, they get invested in our game, they watch our best moments and our worst! They're putting money into watching us play, we have the capacity to uplift their spirits! How would it be, if people found out that I have nightmares like these, had thoughts that run so darkly? Do you think it'd be pressure-free and entirely understanding? Of course not! They'd think I was, I was fucking insane! They'd stigmatise me, they'd call me weak, they'd want me out for risking the team's performances with my, my problems!

"Do you know what I dreamed about the night before the France match, Thomas? I dreamed that the crowd were rabid, that they were tearing my teammates, my friends, apart limb from limb, while all I could do was watch from my goalpost! They came for you and they ripped you to pieces right in front of my eyes, and then they turned to me! Do you even understand what it's like to see things like that almost every night? To feel so set upon? It's not as easy as you think to just up and get help for it! They  _say_ it's confidential but something like this would never go ignored!  I can't risk it, Thomas! Everything I've worked for, all these years, could be tainted if this knowledge gets out! And it's not just dreams! This constant anxiety, this fear, it's killing me more than it's killing you! But it's too complicated, going out of my way to, to talk about it with others, okay? Not now!"

He took a breath, opening his eyes again, and Thomas saw they were full of tears. 

Thomas had remained silent throughout the entire outburst, and when Manu finally had finished ranting, his arms, which had been lying limply by his side, reached out to snake around Manu's shoulders. Manu leaned into him, his shoulders silently shaking. 

"I don't know what to do for you," Thomas said hoarsely, as Manu quietly cried. Admitting it felt like a blow to the chest. All this time he had been passionately arguing that Manu should talk privately with someone, but it was clear he had been lacking empathy. He hadn't put himself in Manu's shoes. What seemed like a perfect solution wasn't, as Manu had said, easy to implement.  Saying that he didn't know what to do felt like an admission of giving up. He felt like he was failing Manu. Some situations were too complicated to breach. 

"I don't know either, Thommy," Manu sobbed. "I don't. This is so hard. Football isn't meant to be like this."

Thomas privately agreed. As he held onto Manu, blinking hard himself, he thought that he had reached a point of no return. It seemed that the only way forwards was to keep putting his faith into what Miro had told him.  _Manu can't stay awake forever. I won't let him._ Miro would be able to help, when Manu eventually succumbed to tiredness He alone wouldn't be able to do anything. But there was no way in hell he was going to leave Manu to deal with this forever.

 _Help us, Opa,_ he thought.  _Because I'm not enough anymore._

***

_Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Sami Khedira_

**Sami:** Man Mes I woke up early this morning

 **Sami:** Weird night

 **Sami:** I had this dream

 **Sami:** So you know the beach on Campo Bahia

 **Sami:** There was like a massive tidal wave

 **Sami:** And like everything was floating even the houses

 **Sami:** And we all had to evacuate through helicopters

 **Sami:** And me and u were sharing a helicopter

 **Sami:** But there were no seats??? So we had to like sit  _on_ each other???

 **Sami:** And then Marco came to the helicopter and flipped a switch and then it shot into the sky 

 **Mesut:** ok

 **Mesut:** first of all

 **Mesut:** did u take whatever manu took last night on the gc

 **Mesut:** weird ass dream

 **Mesut:** why were we sitting on each other

 **Mesut:** but honestly marco launching us to potential doom seems realistic enough

 **Sami:** Oh wow I wasn't expecting u to be awake lol

 **Sami:** It's like 6 why are you awake

 **Sami:** Also yeah wtf the dream was so weird Jogi was like a runway conductor whatever they're called

 **Sami:** Air traffic person?

 **Mesut:** i was on a video call with oli

 **Mesut:** and idk what the term is actually let me google it

 **Mesut:** it's just air traffic operator

 **Sami:** You were talking with Giroud?

 **Sami:** At 6 in the morning?

 **Mesut:** at like 5 actually lol we j woke up early

 **Sami:** Why were you talking so early

 **Sami:** That's just weird

 **Mesut:** sami you're literally texting me early as well

 **Mesut:** why is it different if u do it lol

 **Sami:** Because we're FRIENDS so it's not weird if I text u at any time

 **Mesut:** you are aware oli is my friend too?

**Mesut:**

**Sami:** Yeah well 

 **Mesut:** you're so weird

 **Mesut:** why do i get the feeling that you don't like oli

 **Sami:** Your feeling is wrong

 **Sami:** I don't care about him

 **Sami:** I don't know him so I can't dislike him

 **Mesut:** i guess that's true lol

 **Mesut:** but u have a tendency to dislike people you don't know anyway

 **Mesut:** you disliked laurent for some reason

 **Sami:** I did not dislike koscielny

 **Mesut:** you absolutely disliked koscielny

 **Sami:** Wrong

 **Sami:** Just like with Giroud, I have no opinion

 **Mesut:** sami. i saw your face when you were around him

 **Mesut:** loathing could not begin to describe

 **Sami:** You're just overanalysing

 **Sami:** I have no reason to dislike EITHER of them

 **Mesut:** tell that to lolo

 **Mesut:** even he noticed it

 **Sami:** "Lolo"?

 **Sami:** Maybe I dislike him bc you give him such obnoxious nicknames

 **Sami:** AND because France are like our rivals

 **Mesut:** that's just not true

 **Sami:** It IS

 **Sami:** Don't you remember the fucking euros

 **Sami:** I'm just not getting all pally with the enemy

 **Mesut:** LMAO the enemy

 **Mesut:** most overdramatic thing i've ever heard

 **Sami:** They are the enemy

 **Sami:** They're our opposition

 **Sami:** When we're with our countries they're our enemy!

 **Mesut:** what so are your juve teammates your enemy?

 **Sami:** Yes

 **Sami:** If I faced Mandzo I'd be impartial

 **Sami:** If I faced Paulo I'd be impartial

 **Sami:** Unlike you with Giroud and Koscielny

 **Sami:** You said yourself you'd pass them the ball by accident!!!

 **Mesut:** that's just because you get used to playing with them!!!

 **Sami:** No it's because you're a stupid coconut head

 **Mesut:** you're so annoying

 **Sami:** YOU'RE so annoying

 **Sami:** You and your FRENCH ARSENAL teammates all are

 **Sami:** More like FRENCH LOSER teammates

 **Sami:** Because you're ARSENAL

 **Mesut:** im going to nutmeg u

 **Sami:** Do it

 **Sami:** Try and dispossess me I dare you

 **Mesut:** just u wait

 **Sami:** I'm waiting

 **Sami:** I'll always be waiting

 **Mesut:** UGH save me a seat at breakfast when you go down so i can slap u

 **Sami:** Text me when you're going

 **Mesut:** ok

 **Mesut:** you're the stupid coconut head

**Sami:**

***

The sky outside was clear and sunny, but Mats's expression was nothing short of a hurricane warning. As he stalked into the dining room at breakfast, several pairs of eyes followed his approach and multiple grins were exchanged. 

He took a seat directly next to Benni, who looked at him warily. "What did he do?"

"What did he  _do_ indeed." Mats' voice was taut, as though he was going to snap at any moment. Benni could sense that he was going to be dealing with a morning full of whining.

A few moments later, Marco appeared in the doorway, looking as though he had found light and nourishment after days of seeing the dark. As always with his approach, everybody's attention turned to him. When he was absolutely sure that everyone was watching him, he flourished his hands dramatically, marched into the dining room and pulled back the seat Marc-Andre had just been about to sit in and stood on it. Behind him traipsed Mario, who was for some reason bright red.

" _Everyone,_ " Marco declared, and everyone started jeering and whistling, barring Manu, who was sitting at the other end of the table with his chin buried firmly in his hand, and Miro, who was watching him worriedly out of the corner of his eye. " _Please._ I know you're excited to see me, but I need absolute silence for my announcement, because it applies to every single one of you."

Marc-Andre's expression was remarkably similar to Jogi's- both of them looked as though they were looking for the easiest route to retirement. Everyone by this point had had absolutely enough of Marco's antics and were ready to boo him off of his self-made stage, but of course, running into a brick wall wouldn't deter him from completing his journey of annoying everyone, let alone their protests.

"Just hurry up, will you?" Marc-Andre said wearily, looking up at Marco, who patted his head.

"Now, now. Bernd loves you back," he said absently, and  _that_ got a laugh out of everyone, although Jogi looked very bewildered. Marc-Andre sat down and crossed his legs on the floor, placing his hands on his knees so he looked like he was about to start meditating, or perhaps put himself into a self-induced coma. "Now, is everyone listening?"

"Reus, do you remember yesterday, where you ran five extra laps because of your stupidity?" Jogi asked in a tone that was both inquiring and threatening.

"I do, Coach, I do indeed," Marco said fearlessly, looking his coach directly in the eyes. Jogi wondered how he could have ever thought that Marco was one of the nice, humble, normal ones. He clearly had a problem with character judgement. "However, this is something that concerns you too, so don't be too hasty."

"Oh my God, will you just fucking say it?" Jerome demanded, and everyone agreed vocally, Lukas throwing a napkin at Marco. "Mats is about to burst a blood vessel. Just look at him. Look at his face."

Mats was smiling serenely, but it was a Fips' classic- the calm before the storm. Everyone started giggling once more when they noticed it, even Benni was sympathetically covering his mouth to stop himself from snorting.

"Because Mats is so desperate to hear it," Marco said in tones of mock concern. Mario, behind him, was shaking his head, as if to say,  _why did I ever think being with_ this  _was a good idea?_   "Everyone-  this morning, I got laid. That is all."

"Are you serious?" Jerome yelled, as everyone started booing, and Marco stepped down from his podium and looked shocked by all the insults being hurled at him. "That's it? You fraud!"

"Mats was in for a nasty surprise when he came back into our bathroom to get his  _razor_ this morning," Marco added.

The penny dropped, and everyone started groaning, some people started cackling, and Mats took a deep breath and pushed his chair back, standing up. Benni pulled him back down, however, before he was going to be forced to join Marco in the three extra laps he had just been condemned to by Jogi- the man did not look remotely abashed, but Mario most certainly  _did._

***

_Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Robert Lewandowski_

**Jerome:** we're not disgusting are we

 **Robert:** I sure hope you don't think so

 **Jerome:** i don't

 **Jerome:** it's just that

 **Jerome:** some couples just push the boundaries with their grossness

 **Robert:** Marco?

 **Jerome:** how did u even

 **Robert:** Honey it's Marco

 **Robert:** Unfortunately I played with him and fucking gotze

 **Robert:** I know that man too well.

 **Jerome:** um what is that supposed to mean

 **Jerome:** that has weird undertones

 **Robert:** What

 **Robert:** Ew NO

 **Robert:** I don't mean it like that you weirdo

 **Robert:** Don't get worried

 **Jerome:** well as you said

 **Jerome:** it's marco

 **Jerome:** it's not unlikely that he'd have some sort of suspicious background

 **Robert:** Trust me you'd know about it

 **Robert:** Reus isn't the type to be discreet

 **Robert:** Nor is he the type to sleep around tbh

 **Robert:** He's pretty heavily loyal yknow

 **Jerome:** i mean ur right

 **Jerome:** but he gives off such a chaotic energy

 **Robert:** To be honest

 **Robert:** Anyway what did he do?

 **Jerome:** just said that mats walked in on him and mario fucking in the shower or whatever

 **Jerome:** u should have seen matss face LMAOOOO

 **Jerome:** honestly we're not like that

 **Jerome:** we're so normal

 **Jerome:** we're a nice, normal, loving relationship

 **Jerome:** like pda is just diasgusting

 **Robert:** Like ?? There's a time and a place???

 **Robert:** I am eating a sandwich, can you not fjcking do the deed while i just want to enjoy some wholemeal bread, tomatoes and kefir

 **Jerome:** kefir is disgusting

 **Robert:** Your fucking attitude is disgusting

 **Robert:** Don't even ever talk to me

 **Robert:** It's my birthright

 **Jerome:** it tastes so bad

 **Robert:** YOU taste so bad

**Jerome:**

**Jerome:** you aint ever complained before now

 **Robert:** Stop

 **Robert:** Just stop existing tbh

 **Jerome:** if that happened ud be floating alone in a canopy of nothingness

 **Jerome:** u love me

 **Robert:** Fuckign doubtful

 **Jerome:** the only thing in doubt is the your olive green bomber jacket

 **Robert:** JEROME WHAT YOU CAN'T JUST BREACH BOUNDARIES LIKE THIS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he who giveth fluff taketh away
> 
> also i'm so mad i wrote like half of this chapter then fucking ao3 deleted it??? so this chap is shorter than usual and really isn't good it's probably the worst one yet THIS IS SO BAD IM SCREAMING SORRY IM SO TIREDDDD
> 
> i know the nightmares sound absolutely disturbing. my boyfriend tells me about his nightmares and they give ME nightmares.
> 
> hope you enjoyed the chap!!!????? let me know your thoughts!!! sorry if this IB has gone on too long!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.1  
> part 13!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hallo! we've got another pre-matchday training and plot in this bitch and then a matchday next chapter, and then we should be wrapped up with this international break :( hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

Following yet another breakfast debacle, which had involved Mats bodily hurling a plate of croissants across the table right into Marco's face, which had in turn provoked Marco into throwing a mug of cold coffee back (yet resulting in Jerome getting soaked instead), there were three players running extra laps at the beginning of the day's training session. Jerome had been forced into running in between Marco and Mats, even though he was inclined to kill Marco himself for getting him into this.

"Lovely day," Marco commented, as they passed a corner of the field and Marc-Andre, who was using a stretch-band to pull Ron-Robert's leg back, gave Marco a filthy look. "I can feel the sun invigorating all my pores, kissing my very-"

"Shut up," Jerome advised him. 

"I'm trying to break the monotony of the jog, Jeri, Jesus," Marco said in affronted tones. "I've had to do this like forty eight times over the past two international breaks, and this time it wasn't even my fault. Forgive me for trying to find entertainment for myself."

"What the hell are you talking about,  _it wasn't your fault?_ " Mats's policy (which he had proudly declared to Benni before exiting the changing rooms) about ignoring everything Marco had to say, evaporated before they had even finished their first kilometre. "You're literally the entire reason we're here. Everything is always your fault."

"I'd like to wind back an hour ago," Marco bit back. "If I recall correctly, I wasn't the one who picked up a plate of croissants and  _flung_ them at me."

"I only picked up the croissants and  _flung_ them at you because, as per fucking usual, you were being a huge bastard and kept talking about dicks covered in water," Mats snapped, but he also shivered at the mental image. He didn't like to think about any sort of dick that wasn't Benni's, let alone Marco's. "All you have to do is keep your mouth shut and the world would be fine and dandy, but I guess stopping you from talking shit is like trying to stop a plant taking in sunlight. The only way to do it is draining the blood out of you."

"Wow," Marco gasped, giving Jerome a mockingly astonished look which Jerome reciprocated with a deadpan stare. He wasn't feeling too partial to Marco this morning. "You've upped the wordplay, Mats, maybe soon enough you'll be on the path to getting people to laugh at your jokes. I didn't do  _anything_ to you, Hummels, besides talking to my lovely boyfriend-"

"I beg to fucking differ," Jerome said darkly. "My Gucci shirt has a massive coffee stain on it."

"Just stick it in a washing machine, pussy," Marco said impatiently, waving a hand.

"Listen. That shirt cost over a thousand Euros. Anything I say you would regret now, and I would regret later."

"Stop being so obsessed with fashion, then, mein Gott, don't you know that fashion is the industry that is the second-worst for the environm-"

Jerome timed his shove perfectly- Marco yelled and stumbled over a cone that Mario had just been running up to. He and Mats shared a high-five and when Marco returned to them, he looked thoroughly, thoroughly disgruntled.

"You can giggle, Hummels, at that _hilarious_ bit of physical comedy, but you still saw me and Mario pounding it out," he said, scowling, and Mats's smile dropped immediately.

" _Don't,_ Mats, you idiot," Jerome intoned, pushing Mats away again. "Both of you are too  _much._ I swear, it's almost like the author of whatever dumbass dimension this is just  _tries_ to make you fight as much as possible. Resist the urge! You're adults!"

"God, I'd swap my newborn and half my wages for a chance to play on a team without him on it," Mats said glumly. 

"You're the changeling, though, you got swapped over from Dortmund," Jerome said reasonably, as Marco's eyes rolled up into the back of his skull. "So you have no choice in the matter."

"Seeing as I'm the  _actual,_  Dortmund-bloodedprince and not some weird, sickly fairy kid nobody wants," Marco said, rushing to try and find another insult to get himself back into the verbal war. "I'll swap  _my_ newborn for a centre-back who actually has heading accuracy."

"While you're at it, get a new prolific winger for us, will you? Bayern, I mean," Jerome said thoughtfully. "I love Arjen and Franck and Kingsley, but God, one of them is always injured.  _Always._ There's no natural squad rotation. Just  _injury_ rotation. So that's what I want, hit me up."

Marco winced. "I think you're banking too much on my going rate per kid. I can get you a better centre back- granted, that's easy- but a prolific winger for _Bayern_? I'm great, but I can't work miracles  _all_ the time."

"Are you trying to suggest we've never had a good winger?" Mats asked in a dangerously sweet voice. "Honey, our wingers have won us multiple leagues. The group chat isn't called _Dortmund won the bundesliga,_ is it?" 

It was taking a lot of effort for Jerome to separate the two of them, now. However, a distraction arrived in the shape of Jogi. All three of them in sync saluted their coach as they jogged past him, which prompted their coach to look at them suspiciously. 

"How much have we run?" Jerome groaned, as they finished their second mile. "I don't think I can go on for a second longer. My legs won't be working for the match tomorrow."

"You've managed all this while, you'll be fine," Marco said gently, but Jerome was panting too much to be able to recognise the insult. "We've got another two miles to go."

"I miss Rob," Jerome said as he dragged in more breaths. "Running four miles with him would be a cinch. He makes everything more fun."

Mats groaned. "Don't start talking sappily about Lewy. I swear I'll run ahead of you if you do."

"I'm inclined to agree," Marco said, shuddering. "Lewandowski is just as bad as Hummels in my book. And my book holds equal weight to the-"

" _If you even dare say it-_ "

"Like you can outpace me, Hummels," Jerome said, sentences behind the other two, because he was lost in thought about Robert's smile, and his arms, and the way his legs looked when he was running, and the look of concentration that showed in his blue eyes. "I miss him  _so_ much. I wish he was coming to Westfalen to watch us in the match."

"I'm  _glad_ he isn't coming. We don't need a tainted presence in our grounds," Marco said in a disgusted voice.

"Why isn't he coming?" Mats asked in surprise. "I mean, club training will be over by then, surely he can come to Dortmund to watch you on..."

Jerome made a face. "Well, I don't think he... well...  _wants_ to. I don't know. He didn't really say  _why_ he wasn't coming, but he just hasn't been feeling in the mood for it, since, well..."

His voice trailed off, and both Marco and Mats knew he was talking about Poland's unmitigated disaster versus Portugal in the Nations League game. Jerome half-warily glanced at Marco as he spoke his words, but he needn't have. Marco was annoying, but he wasn't cruel. He wasn't laughing. His face was neutral, unlike Mats's sympathetic expression, but Jerome could tell that he wouldn't make fun of  what had happened. At heart, Robert was still his teammate, and that was why he was always disparaging about him, Jerome supposed. He still cared.

"He was fine," Marco said shortly, causing Mats and Jerome to look at him in shock. "Why are you looking at me like that? He was. He was definitely one of their best players on the pitch. Yeah the red and the missed penalty doesn't say much, but the fact was he had loads of chances. It was just luck."

He looked ahead, still unsmiling, but Jerome felt his lips quirk up at the side. Somehow, it was Marco's praise, which was hard to earn (because it was so often directed at himself) that made him feel better about it all. Even Mats was grinning a bit. Marco noticed it, and rushed to disabuse them of the notion that he was being nice.

"Oh, don't look so happy. He's still a dickhead," he said sharply. "Being a good player doesn't mean you're a good person,  _honestly-_ "

"Yeah, yeah," Jerome said softly, as Marco tried to tear down any sort of accusation that he still had a semblance of care for his former teammate or anyone in the world. "Whatever you say, Marco."

***

It didn't take long for Jogi to realise something was wrong with Manu. The keeper was slow and sluggish, with his reactions being far from what they usually were. It seemed that none of his shouted criticisms about positioning and focusing were getting into his head either. It was only after Toni took a shot and Manu didn't even dive for it that Jogi blew his whistle. Toni didn't laugh as Manu rubbed his face, looking dejected. He patted Manu on the shoulder as the other man headed towards the coach, ready to get relentlessly criticised, as Marc-Andre took his place in front of goal.

"Neuer," Jogi said flatly, as Manu dragged his feet across the glass and stared at his shoes. "I don't need to tell you what was wrong with  _that_ performance, do I?"

"Nein," Manu mumbled. "Es tut mir leid."

"I would shout at you for that piece of terrible play, but I know it's probably got nothing to do with your quality. You look ill, Neuer. Are you sure you're fit enough to be in training? Do you need to go to the medical area and get checked out?" 

Heat rushed to Manu's face as he scuffed at the ground. Did he really look that bad, that Jogi was speaking gently, and suggesting that he go to the medical area, instead of criticising him? Maybe Thomas had been right. "No... I can play on..."

"Are you sure, or are you just saying that because you feel guilty? Because I think you're just saying that because you feel guilty," Jogi said, with a small smile on his face. "Neuer, go to the medical area. You're of no use to us playing like this. Beside, you're most likely not going to be getting minutes in the Russia match. Better you spend some time resting than making yourself more ill."

Manu felt even more embarrassed, but he knew instinctively that Jogi was right and that he was going to have to accept that he couldn't play when he was this crushingly exhausted. But maybe this was a good thing- maybe he could hide somewhere and take a nap, so he would be well-rested to spend the night awake-

No. He couldn't do that. There was every possibility a random staff member would stumble upon him yelling his head off and he really didn't want to be caught in a compromising position. He sighed deeply, wondering why he had been punished to this predicament. He was a good person. He had a kids' foundation, and he tried hard. Yet suffering came to him anyway. Maybe it was some sort of cosmological karma- 

"Off you go, Neuer," Jogi said firmly, and Manu hung his head and turned around to walk away from the field. He wasn't really looking where he was going, wanting to be as discreet as possible so nobody noticed him leaving. In his half blind stumbling, however, he ran into a tall figure, and almost fell to the ground before he was caught by the wrists by a pair of steady hands.

It was Miro. Of fucking course it was Miro. "Careful, there, Manu, are you okay?"

Manu swore inwardly. So much for nobody noticing him. "Y-Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, I didn't see you there."

"Are you going somewhere?" Miro asked, his eyebrows creased in concern. Manu hated that look. It made him feel like he was just causing unneccessary worry to people. But he supposed in his current state, with his eyes so badly twitching and his knees wobbling as he moved from tiredness, he was bound to attract some concern anyway.

"No," Manu muttered distractedly in response to Miro's question. "I mean, yeah. Jogi's banished me off the pitch to go to the medical area. Because I just played like shit, because I'm, well... I'm kind of ill."

"Ill?" Miro's eyes were like fucking X-Ray scanners. Manu could feel them looking through every molecule in his skin and reaching his brain, dissecting every thought he had ever had, every lie he had ever told. "I'm sorry to hear it. Do you want me to escort you to the medical area? You're looking a bit shaky."

"No!" Manu said hastily. "No, I'm fine, I'll just head there now, it's not a problem. I don't want to waste your time."

"You wouldn't be wasting my time-"

"Seriously, Miro," Manu said with a tentative smile. "You just keep on training. I'll get there fine. It's only a five minute journey, shouldn't take too much out of me."

Miro looked uncertain. "If you're sure-"

"I am," Manu said firmly. "I'll see you later, okay? Hopefully they'll just give me a painkiller or two. And then I'll be  _gesund wie ein Fisch im Wasser._ "

Miro smiled a little, and then patted Manu on the shoulder before heading off to his training station. Manu's overly hearty smile disappeared from his face as quickly as Lukas did when faced with a goalscoring opportunity for Arsenal. 

He wasn't going to be able to keep this up forever, was he?

***

 Though the sky had been an unfettered blue when the players had set out to training, clouds had gradually drawn further and further together as time went by, and by one o' clock, it had started to rain. Mesut, who had just been taking a water break after having done the two-touch challenge (and winning by a landslide) against Mats, gazed up at the mass of grey above him and groaned loudly. He hated playing in the wet.

"Fucking hell, it goes from bright blue to this," Sami said grimly, as a chorus of complaints began to sound like a jumbo jet revving up, particularly the drama queens of the squad. "Let me guess, Jogi is going to-"

The whistle blew sharply, interrupting his words, and Sami gave Mesut a look as if to say,  _what did I tell you?_

"Listen up!" Jogi called, as Joshua started laughing at Julian, who had just slipped on grass and landed on his ass. "I don't want to hear any whinging from any one of you! It's a bit of water, you're not drowning! We're continuing to train at our hardest! We're going for a practice game, now, okay?"

"Is the man serious?" Marco yelled, but Jogi's deadpan expression answered before anybody else could. Muttering strings of words that were just quiet enough for him not to be running yet again but loud enough to get Jonas to burst out laughing, he pulled up his socks and began to jog a little on the spot. If he was going to be forced into playing a practice game, he was going to win.

"Ter Stegen, you're on one end. Zieler, you're on the other," Jogi was yelling, as everyone started dragging their feet around and grumbling.

Benni and Mats were on one side, Jerome and Niklas on the other.  Marco was placed on the opposing team to Mats, perhaps to rev him into better form so he could score more. Sami and Mesut were also separated. Lukas was the striker opposite to Marco. The makeshift subs for the practice game jogged over to either side of the pitch, already shouting abuse and getting ready for their own game of trash talking.

"You've got me behind you, Luki, we're going to wipe the smile off of Reus's face," Basti said encouragingly, as Lukas glared at Marco, who had already started the bullshit and was flexing his muscles with as much obnoxious self-admiration as he could. "Best striker in Europe, facing off Dortmund's little friend."

Mats had heard Basti's comment and was just about to reach for the high-five (but also the slightly doubtful comment about Basti's judgement on the best striker in Europe), but Jogi's whistle startled him into action. Everyone had been too busy jostling and laughing at each other to notice it, barring Marco, who had instantly shot forwards and, as per usual, snatched the ball.

Infuriated by their delayed reaction, the opposing team raced towards the striker, who had his tongue sticking out of his mouth and was practically dancing on the ball. Jogi was just about to yell at him to stop showboating and start focusing properly, but he didn't have time to. Benni had hit him with a sliding tackle that caught Marco unawares. Crowing with laughter, everyone on the sidelines started imitating Marco's tapdancing motion, causing him to stick his middle finger out as he moved back into the game. The strange thing about Marco was the way he could be completely absorbed into a game, yet still laugh and joke as if he was lounging around with friends.

Benni had passed to Basti, who in turn passed to Jonas who was taking the game seriously, as, unlike the rest of his teammates, he was a hard worker. Jonas passed forwards to Lukas, who was forced to pass to Thomas as Jerome was pressing him hard. Thomas, in his usual reliable fashion, was ambling towards the opposing goal, but he didn't look as though he was focusing on the ball.

"No you don't!" Marco yelled, as he sped forwards to dispossess Thomas. Thomas swore at him, but he didn't seem to be particularly upset about it. In fact, there was clear distraction in his eyes, Miro noticed from his spot on the side. "And Reus, charges down the middle-!"

"And gets tackled!" Mats finished the sentence for him, indeed initiating a standing tackle that had Marco swearing so loudly that Jogi threatened to gift the opposition with a penalty. Mats zipped the ball in a neat pass to Lukas, who had run ahead past Niklas, who seemed genuinely surprised for a moment that he had been surpassed, having seemingly briefly blanked out.

"Focus, Sule, any lack of concentration could be the difference between losing your mark and conceding a goal!" Jogi shouted disapprovingly. Sule made a face but jogged up to where Lukas and Sami were passing to one another. Jerome tried for a sliding tackle, but Sami just managed to escape, giving him a cheeky grin and finally initiating the cross that had Lukas arching forwards, with his leg splayed-

" _Und es ist ein Tor!_ " one half chanted, in the tone of a commentator, while the other groaned and started yelling out insults, as Jogi blew his whistle to signal the goal, and Ron-Robert stood up looking annoyed. 

Marco's reaction was remarkably restrained, even with everyone being as provocative as possible. "Stay celebrating, darlings. Marco hasn't engaged yet."

"Well, he should be engaged from the beginning," Jogi said flatly, before anyone else could respond. Everyone roared with laughter as Marco's smug smile dropped like a weight.

Play started again. This time, Mesut got onto the ball first, and had his lip trapped between his lower teeth as he navigated around Benni, who wasn't able to dispossess this time. Mesut passed to Fips, who, with characteristic perfection, gave the ball to Toni, who made a decent run forward before having to draw to a halt again, the centre back on him. But Mats wasn't able to stop him- Toni succeeded in passing to Marco, who was grinning as he took possession yet again. In his post, Marc-Andre was getting ready to move into action-

"OH MY GOD! MESUT OZIL! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!"

Marco's aghast cry was as a result of what had happened in the briefest flash of a moment. Marco had given the cross to Mesut, who had been in the box, and Mesut, having taken the ball, had done something so inexplicably stupid that Marco had thrown himself to the ground in horror, skidding along the turf on his knees. Mesut had passed beautifully- to Sami, who was on the other team.

"Sorry!" Mesut yelled, looking highly embarrassed, as everyone started screaming with laughter from the sides. "Sorry- I just got- confused-"

"Thanks, Mes!" Sami yelled, racing ahead with the ball, as Mesut tried to recover from his mistake and Marco paid for his dramatic reaction- he had to scramble to his feet to catch up. All in all, the terrible display resulted in Basti putting a second goal away for his side.

"And that is an example of what not to do, under any circumstances, ever!" Jogi yelled, furious at what he had just seen. "Ozil, try and score for your side! Reus, enough of the theatrics! Khedira, Schweinsteiger, good work!"

"Think it's time for Marco to engage, yet?" Fips asked dryly, and Marco clenched his jaw, and everyone on the sidelines clutched each other, beside themselves. They couldn't believe the evidence of their senses. Mesut was so in love with Sami that he passed to him even when they were playing against each other. There was something surreal about the fact that their denied love was able to break through the usual competitive spirit of the game, but both of them  _still_ hadn't realised anything.

"Can you imagine if Mesut had to play against Juve- no, hold on, I can't say that with a straight face. Arsenal versus Juventus, that'd mean they were in the Champions League," Mario giggled, covering his mouth, as Leroy, being a Premier League player, went for the high-five. "But seriously, just imagine, you're in the box, you think your precious Ozil is about to float one in, and then he gives a beautiful pass- to his boyfriend!"

"They're really on another plane of shambles," Julian said with an air of somebody who couldn't quite comprehend what he was seeing. "Can you believe that there was a time I thought they were straight? Sometimes I go back to that conversation and I just start laughing. It's too much."

"Speaking of too much," Leon sighed.

Marco had finally managed to find some luck with the ball, but Joshua, at the very last moment, had made the clearance. But Marco's team were insisting the ball had gone over the line. It looked like there was a fight brewing, especially because Marco had surpassed Mats in his chase towards goal and Mats absolutely didn't want Marco to capitalise off of his mistake. Marc-Andre, having come off of his line trying to stop the striker, was also looking to save his own skin. The subs who had been watching instead of talking about Mesut and Sam all joined in the huddle of indignation, purely because it was fun.

"IF THAT WASN'T A GOAL, I'LL EAT MARIO!" Marco was yelling. "AND THAT'S NOT A EUPHEMISM! I GENUINELY WILL EAT MARIO!"

"YOU'D BETTER HOPE HE TASTES GOOD, THEN!" Joshua bellowed back. "BECAUSE I CLEARED THAT LIKE THE DEFENSIVE DEITY I AM! IT DIDN'T GO ACROSS THE LINE!"

"MARIO, COME OVER HERE!" Mats shouted. "YOU'VE HAD A GOOD LIFE, I'M SORRY IT HAS TO END THIS WAY!"

"WHAT?" Mario cried.

Jogi, who was currently afloat in a sea of idiocy, was trying to get his voice to be heard over everyone throwing their opinion in. Not everyone had even seen what had happened, but they were all insisting on one thing or another- some annoying people, like Jerome, purely for the fun of it, were playing the devil's advocate and supporting both sides of the argument. Trying to get an accurate eye witness account was impossible, because Fips was biased and Miro hadn't been watching.

"ALRIGHT!" Jogi hollered, after he had heard enough. He fumbled for his whistle and blew on it sharply, managing to quieten down the rabble a little bit. "Clearly none of you can be mature or trusted! We're going to have to check the goal line camera!"

He made the square motion in mid-air with his fingers. There were cheers and people practically started trampling over each other to reach the video reviewing station, so Jogi had to order them all to stay still. Marco was ranting at the top of his voice and Marc-Andre was insisting that he had seen what had happened all along, and that Joshua had cleared it, even though he had dived to catch the ball from Marco and had just missed it and  _hadn't_ seen Joshua saving him.

The staff behind the viewing station all looked a little intimidated as the whole team looked as though they were on the verge of rioting, but Jogi looked utterly unaffected. He leaned forwards as the goal-line camera footage flashed on the screen. Everyone watched him as though he was a referee watching VAR to decide on a potential World Cup winning penalty. Jogi's brow creased as he stared at the footage, worrying at his lower lip. This was a difficult decision to make. It was  _unbelievably_ close, so close that his verdict really had to be based on whether he liked Joshua or Marco more. And seeing as Marco had been acting up recently...

"NOT A GOAL!" Jogi called out, and there was an uproar, and Marco fell to the ground as if he had been gunned down, as Lukas's team started hooting and the other team were torn between complaining and laughing. Benni and Mats approached Mario and seized his arms, pulling him towards his boyfriend.

"Open wide, Reus," Mats said, pushing Mario over so he landed on his boyfriend in a tangle of limbs. Marco remained face down like a petulant child even as Mario's weight fell on him.

"Come on, baby," Mario chuckled, after he had aimed a kick at Mats for pushing him. He helped Marco upright- the striker looked as though he was about to explode. "For what it's worth, that was a good run."

"Damn right it was," Marco said, looking pissy, but flourishing his head unneccessarily as he got to his feet and cracked his knuckles. "Right. Mario, this isn't just a practice game anymore. This is warfare. Hummels and ter Stegen are going to get nutmegged so badly the mental trauma will force them out of play."

***

_Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Robert Lewandowski_

**Robert:** Not to blow my own trumpet but

 **Robert:** I just managed to flip a pancake so cleanly that it rotated 360 degrees in the air before landing on the pan with a sizzling smack

 **Robert:** What have YOU done today Jeri

 **Jerome:** nothing as weighty as that i assure u

 **Jerome:** ive been slide tackling like a motherfucker for like the whole day

 **Jerome:** i genuinely thing my ass will have grass imprints on it forever

 **Robert:** It's beautiful anyway

 **Jerome:** ja i know that

 **Jerome:** what's new?

 **Jerome:** anyway i can't believe ur making ur pancakes while i'm not in the vicinity?

 **Jerome:** isn't it OUR THING 

 **Jerome:** rebelling against the repressive dietary code with ur beautiful food

 **Robert:** Yeah it is

 **Robert:** But I'm a naughty bitch

 **Robert:** And I was wallowing in depression so I needed to eat my feelings away

 **Jerome:** why u wallowing in depression whats up

 **Robert:** Oh you know

 **Robert:** I'M SITTING ON MY ASS WHILE EVERYONE ELSE IS WITH THEIR NATIONAL TEAMS DOING SHIT

 **Jerome:** ok but

 **Jerome:** rn it's just friendlies

 **Robert:** IT'S CONTEXT JERI

 **Robert:** I GOT A RED CARD

 **Robert:** AND YES I'M STILL SALTY

 **Robert:** AND MAYBE IT SEEMS LIKE I'M COMICALLY OVEREXAGGERATING 

 **Robert:** BUT I'M NOT

 **Robert:** I DON'T KNOW WHY BUT THERE ARE TEARS IN MY EYES

 **Robert:** I DIDN'T MEAN TO START VENTING IN CAPITAL LETTERS BUT SHIT HAPPENS

 **Robert:** LIKE POLAND VS PORTUGAL

 **Robert:** DO YOU GET IT

 **Robert:** SHIT HAPPENS

 **Robert:** BECAUSE WE'RE SHIT

 **Robert:** AND I AM TOO 

 **Jerome:** ok rob sweetheart just breathe

 **Jerome:** i'm going to call

 **Robert:** NO DON'T CALL I DON'T WANT YOU TO SEE ME BEING PATHETIC

 **Jerome:** you're never pathetic

 **Robert:** RIGHT NOW I AM

 **Robert:** HOW AM I C R Y I N G WHY AM I LIKE THIS I'M A STUPID COCONUT

 **Robert:**  ANDI'M STILL TALKING INC APITAL LETTERS WHY

 **Jerome:** because you're upset

 **Jerome:** baby i know it's hard to take andi wish i was with u right now and i know u don't want me to start motivationally spouting again because u just want someone to vent ur frustration to so do it im rightttt here to listen and absorb it all i love u <33

 **Robert:** THANK YOU

 **Robert:** I'M SO EMBARASSED

 **Robert:** I'M SOBBING OVER A STACK OF REALLY NICE PANCAKES

 **Robert:** AND THE PANCAKES WERE MEANT TO CHEER ME UP

 **Robert:** BUT THEN YOU SAID THE PANCAKES WERE OUR THING AND I REMEMBERED YOU WEREN'T HERE AND NOW I'M CRYING EVEN HARDER SIGJRIEGHIRU

 **Jerome:** robert one time you walked in on me in the kitchen making a sandwich at 2 in the morning and just sobbing over the bread because the mean comments on twitter got to me

 **Jerome:** i sympathise with your plight

 **Jerome:** it's not embarasssing

 **Jerome:** seriously if you want embarassing dont u remember you once tried to smack my ass in training but smacked arjen's instead

 **Robert:** OK TRUE

 **Robert:** IT WAS AN ACCIDENTAL KERFUFFLE THOUGH

 **Jerome:** you still got a handful of him

 **Jerome:** tbh i don't blame you

 **Robert:** THA'TS REALLY FUNNY BC IT'S ARJEN AND HONESTLY

 **Robert:** YOU'REARIGHT HES KIND OF A GOD

 **Jerome:** my point is you've done plenty more questsionable things than crying over some gorgeous pancakes and because u miss a total stud like me

 **Jerome:** i'd cry if i was in ur position too

 **Jerome:** i'd really miss me

 **Robert:** YES TRUE MY PANCAKES ARE SO GOOD AND I EVEN PUTTHE CHOCOLATE ROCKS ON BECAUSE INSTINCTIVELY

 **Robert:** I THOUGHT "JEROME LOVES THE ROCKS" AND THEN I REMEMEBRED

 **Robert:** YOU'RE NOT HERE

 **Jerome:** baby when i come back in like 3 days ther'ell be all the chocolate rocks in the world

 **Jerome:** both a euphemism and not

 **Jerome:** i swear rob just call me call me call me i need to see ur face now

 **Robert:** I'M UGLY RIGHT NOW

 **Jerome:** ROBERT LEWANDOWSKI DON'T TRY ME YOU'RE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PERSON ON THE PLANET

 **Jerome:** CRYING OR NOT

 **Jerome:** YOU COULD START BALDING AND YOU'D STILL BE THE SEXIEST AND THAT'S A FACT

 **Robert:** STOP I'M GONNA HYPERVENTILATE

 **Jerome:** CALL ME

 **Robert:** BUT

 **Jerome:** BUT NOTHING

 **Robert:** I'M WARNING YOU I'M SUPER BLOTCHY

 **Jerome:** I WILL LITERALLY FLY TO MUNICH AND EAT YOU IF YOU DON'T CALL ME

 **Robert:** THEN I WON'T CALL

 **Jerome:** ROBERT

 **Robert:** FINE

**Robert: UGH**

_Incoming call from Robert Lewandowski._

***

After the day's training (the practice game had ended up as a 4-3 loss to Marco's side- after Marco had been subbed off, Miro had been brought in to actually  _score_ something, much to Marco's chagrin), the team were spent. They were so spent that they actually willingly stumbled up to their bedrooms when they were told to, some people going up to sleep early. When Miro entered his room, prepared to never wake up again (scoring hattricks had never been so tiring), he was unprepared to see Thomas and Manu sitting together.

"Oh," he said blankly, as the two looked up at him- Thomas's eyes were very red and Manu was staring at the carpet. "I'm sorry, I'll come back later-"

"No," Thomas said quickly, standing up. "It's fine, we've finished talking. Um, so, Manu, I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Ich liebe dich."

"I love you too," Manu said just as hastily, leaning into Thomas and kissing him. Miro looked away- not because he was embarrassed, no, he was used to public displays of affection- but because it all seemed a little too private.

Thomas gave a brief hug to Miro as he hurried towards the door, and muttered something in his ear- "Viel Glück, Opa."

Miro patted his shoulder but didn't have time to say anything else as Thomas had already left the room, leaving him and Manu alone. For a second there was quiet, as Manu swung his arms by his side a little awkwardly. And then he grinned a grin that wasn't really a grin- more of a grimace. 

"Good training session?" he asked hesitantly.

"It was eventful," Miro said, smiling. "There was drama with a disallowed goal, I, being my usual reliable self, scored a hattrick to equalise us, but Mario scored the winner. Mesut also passed to Sami, who was playing against him, and that inspired quite a breakdown of sanity in the squad."

Manu's smile was too sharp and wide to be real, and Miro felt a little pained by how obviously unhappy he looked. "Right. Well, Schneider told me I was, uh, a little feverish, probably because it's flu season, but that it's nothing to worry about."

 _Did he, now?_ "That's good. I hope you feel better soon."

"Yeah."

At that point it was obvious that the conversation couldn't be dragged out any longer so Miro mumbled something about brushing his teeth before bed and Manu mumbled in agreement. He clumsily lumbered off to the bathroom as Manu sat down at the edge of his bed, returning his deadpan stare at the floor. He could already feel his shoulders sagging. He knew that if he lay down he would absolutely drop off instantly. He couldn't manage another day like this. He just couldn't. Thomas would- he would- well-

Manu arched forwards, sighing, running his fingers through his hair. This international break would be over soon. Maybe- just maybe- he could last until then. He had certainly heard of people pulling off multiple sleepless nights, there were definitely stressed office workers out there who had done all-nighters and were fine afterwards... Maybe Marco and Mats would cause some mayhem in the night so Jogi let them return to their original arrangements again...

There was one thing for certain, Miro was eyeing him a little too closely when he returned from the bathroom. Manu suspected it might have been because he looked like complete shit, but he couldn't help but cast his mind back to when Thomas had hugged him-

_Stop, Manu. Just stop. Don't get paranoid._

"Well," he said in a falsely cheery voice (God, every time he spoke he wanted to pull his vocal cords out, he couldn't have been worse of an actor), "We should be getting to sleep, right? Hopefully I'll feel better so I can participate in tomorrow's training."

_As fucking if._

"Of course," Miro said brightly. "Good night, Manu. I hope... you sleep well."

_So do I._

The two of them got into their own beds. Manu had never felt so tense around Miro before. He felt miserable. Usually spending time with the older man was fun and Manu loved hearing his bursts of dry humour and the insights he had. Now Manu felt as though he was dragging down the mood and that poor Miro deserved to be with someone  _fun,_ for God's sake. He should have gone for Thomas. 

As the light turned off, Manu waited for a moment before sneakily reaching out for his phone and hastily turning down the brightness as a colossal weight of resignation settled in on him. _You can do it again. It's just staying awake. Not a penalty save. Don't be pathetic, Manu. This is for the good of literally, everyone..._

He made a good effort. His eyes stared blankly at the dimmed light of his phone screen as he swiped through Instagram without really seeing anything, blindly tapping at every photo. Unfortunately, the aches of physical exhaustion from his overly prolonged sleeplessness were enough to start dragging his eyes down. He tried rubbing them with his fingers to coax a little bit of, well, energy into them? To try and stop them from blurring with tiredness?

But time dripped on and the only sound Manu could hear in the room was deep, slow breathing- and he couldn't stop his eyes from drooping. He cursed himself, trying to put himself in an uncomfortable position, wriggling around, but his body was going limp- his mind was gently pulling him away towards unconsciousness-

_No._

_Don't sleep. Don't sleep. Please don't-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DRAMATIC RUSHED ENDING YAY 
> 
> (also in case someone thinks i j didn't finish the jeri/lewy bit it was meant to finish like that haha) 
> 
> woo this was heavy and clumsy one and ive been busy so it took a few days to write :( but hope you enjoyed nonetheless, let me know what you guys think! 
> 
> (also the whole fairy metaphor joke thing was so badly done eek)
> 
> also have an announcement! at a training session today i saw scouts and i was screaming because they were watching me do penalty practice saves and gtrgjriughighirehi one of them WROTE SOMETHING ON A CLIPBOARD WHEN I SAVED ONE HELP


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.1  
> part 14!  
> MATCHDAY!  
> friendly- germany vs russia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this chapter contains descriptions of horror, but none of it is real, it's all nightmare horror, but it's disturbing so pls read at ur own discretion. it also deals with fairly heavy topics in the 1st half, stupidity in the 2nd.
> 
> aloha lovelies (: again with this matchday the squad is all made up and what happens in the game is all made up :P so akinfeev, cheryshev, mario fernandes and the likes feature in this chapter. it's also shorter because it's just a friendly lol, and this chapter would be too long otherwise :P
> 
> i think this will be the penultimate international break chapter, depending on what i decide to do with this plot :) then we return to everyday life!

His eyes flickered open, and he was swathed in darkness. For a moment, he wondered if he had briefly blacked out, and was still in bed. But there was something different about where he was lying, on his front, his head pressed against the- the headboard of his bed? No, it wasn't. He made a noise of confusion and tried to get up, but he found that he couldn't. His back connected with something solid and he fell forwards again. He wasn't in bed. He was in- in some sort of enclosed, small space.

Manu's eyes widened. He could feel a dead weight beneath him, but he couldn't see what it was. He was suddenly all too aware that there were- there were walls around him, sealing him, restricting his movement. His breathing had instantly become more shallow. Any semblance of calm he might have feigned went out of the window. He hated the sensation of feeling trapped. Cold fear crawled down his throat as he tried to move again, his hands groping around beneath him for some sort of hold on the ground- but instead, they came into contact with- was that skin? Was it a person underneath him?

He shifted more violently, trying to move upright, his neck hitting the top of wherever he was trapped, trying to see what the weight beneath him was. It was so dark. He blinked aggressively, trying to get his eyes to focus. It was definitely a person beneath him. His heart was racing, hard, panic closing up his throat. It felt as though the edges of his world were pressing in on him, and that everything was going to collapse, and he wasn't alone, who was it-

He let out a cry as he finally realised who the person lying beneath him was. Oh, God! It was Thomas! White and stiff and unmoving, those light green eyes fixed, blank and empty, his lips slightly parted. He was dead! Manu arched backwards, trying to break free of where his boyfriend was lying dead beneath him, but he couldn't move, he couldn't move, he was suddenly aware of the fact there was blood everywhere, all over him, where had it come from-

And then he screamed so loudly he thought his throat was going to tear. Mindless, savage horror consumed him as Thomas's body seemed to be rotting away beneath him. His pale skin was nothing more than mutilated flesh, peeling away- and maggots were erupting from his body- and he was being torn apart, silently decaying- Manu couldn't move, he was rooted to the spot-

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! NO- NO!"

Miro shot out of bed like a bullet, panic filling his entire body as Manu's howl tore him from his slumber. For a moment he felt disorientated, not quite sure what he was meant to be doing with his legs, but then he mentally cursed himself. Go to Manuel! You knew this was going to happen, Miro! Thomas told you!

Half torn by desperation, he staggered over to where Manu was lying, tangled in sheets, clutching at his head and shouting out. It was a terrifying sight. The usually calm giant was writhing, tears forcing their way out of his closed eyelids. Miro dragged in a deep breath, recalling what Thomas had told him. It would be difficult to wake him. Stay calm and collected-

"Manuel!" he called in a clear, though slightly trembling voice. "Manuel, you're dreaming! It's me, Miro! Please wake up!"

But his voice didn't seem to be able to penetrate whatever world Manu had entered. Miro was really starting to panic, now. He leaned forwards, his hands shaking, and gently seized the goalkeeper's shoulders, shaking them- not too aggressively, but hard enough so Manu could feel it.

"Manu, please!" Miro said desperately. "It's just a dream! You're safe!"

"NO!" Manu shouted, his fists flailing and almost catching Miro in the face. Miro jumped backwards, staring down at him. This wasn't going to do. He was going to have to get Thomas. He turned around to run for the door, but then he heard another, final cry before there was a gasp and spluttering as if someone had just come to the surface after drowning. Miro's head whipped around, and he saw Manu sitting upright, his eyes wide open his body quaking so violently the sheets rolled off of his bed.

Was he awake? Or was this some kind of unconscious reaction? Miro moved towards Manu, noticing how his pupils were dilated with terror, and he didn't seem to be in the moment. But then Manu's gaze shifted towards Miro as he dragged in desert-dry gasps, tears pouring down his face.

"Miro?" he stammered, and Miro felt a surge of relief that he was being recognised. "Oh Gott. Oh, mein Gott. Nein. Nein!"

Miro sat down at the edge of Manu's bed as the goalkeeper dissolved into horrified sobs, burying his face in his knees, pulling into himself. His heart was still racing from the adrenaline of the moment. That had been... terrifying. He hadn't been expecting to feel as scared as he did, and he was furious at himself for being so ineffective. Manu looked as though he was about to cross the line into hysteria so he rushed to calm the man down.

"Manu," he said hoarsely, as Manu wept. "Oh, Gott, Manu. Please calm down. It's okay. You're okay. You're completely safe. You're in a hotel room and I'm right beside you and nothing is wrong. I promise you whatever- whatever that was- it wasn't real."

"I know!" Manu wailed. "I know it wasn't real! That's the point! I let something that wasn't real affect me like this, because I'm pathetic! I just- I- oh, Gott! This wasn't supposed to happen! I knew I shouldn't have gone to sleep! Now I've ruined everything! I've ruined your night and now you know something's wrong with me, Jesus, I can't!"

Miro recalled everything Thomas told him. _Manu doesn't need a startled, speechless version of you. He needs the version of you everyone knows. Be helpful._ "There's nothing wrong with you. Nightmares happen to a lot of people, it's nothing to be ashamed of! From- from your reaction, it seemed to be really frightening, and I'm glad you woke me up, so I could help you!"

Manu shook his head, apparently deaf to what Miro had to say. "I'm so high fucking maintenance. Nobody else- reacts this badly.  Look at me! I'm so sorr-"

"I don't want to hear an apology, okay?” Miro said firmly, but also gently, because Manu was so distraught he was sure that being heavy would only serve to upset him more. “I’m concerned about you. I don’t care at all about being woken up, it doesn’t matter. I’d rather it be like that than me sleeping away without knowing you’re suffering. Besides, I was expecting it…”

He knew from the second that the words came out of his mouth that they were a grave mistake. Manu paused in the midst of his tears, a strange expression stealing onto his face. It was incredulity, mixed with anger, as he glared at Miro through red eyes.

_Shit! You shouldn’t have said anything! Idiot! You told Thomas you were going to keep your mouth shut!_

“What do you mean, you were expecting it?” Manu demanded.

Miro swore inwardly but kept his expression as calm as possible as he spoke. “I didn’t mean that I was expecting… this to happen. All I meant, was, that, I’ve been suspecting something is wrong for the past few days. You didn’t sleep last night, you were messaging the group chat, and you seemed unhappy about the rooming arrangements. I just assumed it was something to do with sleeping.”

He marvelled at the way he managed to keep his voice perfectly even, looking Manu directly in the eye. Anyone else would have believed what he was saying, but Manu did not look at all convinced. In fact, he looked even angrier.

“It was Thomas, wasn’t it? Thomas told you!” Manu insisted.

“Manuel-” Miro didn’t want to lie.

“I knew it! I knew he told you!” Manu said furiously. “I told him not to tell anybody!”

“Maybe Thomas _did_ tell me,” Miro said hesitantly. “But why is it bad that Thomas was concerned about your wellbeing? He only told me because he was desperately worried, not for any other reason-”

Manu shook his head vigorously, snatching up the bundle of sheets from the floor and pulling them aggressively back onto the bed. His emotional state had been replaced by anger. “I don’t care if he was worried, I told him that I didn’t want people to know about this, he promised me he wouldn’t say, and he broke that promise! Who else has he told?”

“Nobody,” Miro said insistently, sensing that he had to appease the situation quickly. “I promise you, I’m the only person who knows. And I swear I would never tell anybody. Ever.”

There was a moment of silence as Manu breathed heavily, hugging his arms to himself, and Miro watching him sadly. He knew his job now was to persuade Manu not to remain angry with Thomas, and show him that Miro discovering his secret was not an inherently bad thing. This was what Thomas had asked him to help with.

“Manu,” Miro said quietly. The man did not look at him. “I know that you feel as though you can’t let anybody discover your vulnerabilities. I know that you’re terrified that if people find out about this anxiety, these nightmares, you’ll be ostracised. But if you’ll permit me to say so, I believe you’ve got the wrong end of the stick.”

Manu stared at his knees.

“Nobody has to find out about this. You could see a private psychiatrist. It’s strictly confidential. I went through therapy myself, once,” Miro said quietly. He had been. Lots of footballers had been, behind closed doors. In such a high-pressure sport, lapses in mental health were natural, not something to be stigmatised- though, of course, it would take a while for people to realise this. “The only thing you’re doing by not sleeping, by trying to hide it, is making it more conspicuous. It won’t get any better if you keep trying to contain it. It’ll burst out of you.”

“I’ve managed-”

“No,” Miro said softly. “You’ve struggled along and just _managed_ to keep things under wraps. And now the situation is rising to the surface and threatening to spill out. Managing the situation would be healthily coping with it and getting help. It shouldn’t be _, aus den Augen, aus dem Sinn._ ”

“I can’t,” Manu said desperately, but with the air of someone who was trying to convince himself. “You don’t understand-”

“Oh, I do. I’ve been playing for many years, Manuel. Players have come and gone with these sorts of problems. I’ve watched them suffer.  A good man, Robert Enke, took his life because his problems became too much. I never want to experience something like that again. This problem is preventable. It can be stopped before it gets completely out of hand, now somebody else knows about it and can help you. You can be helped, Manuel, the only question is whether you're willing to accept it. It'll be hard, but it's better than floating along in a stasis and getting nothing done about it.”

Manu had fallen deathly still at the mention of Enke, his eyes fixed on the foot of his bed. And then he looked at Miro for the first time. 

"I can't do it now," he mumbled. "Maybe I'll think about seeing someone when we return from the international break. Bayern would be more suited to dealing with it because it's where I am all the time. But I'll  _think_ about it. Nothing for certain."

Miro tried not to beam with delight at the assurance that Manu might actually consider seeking help. "Thinking about it is more than enough for a start. Maybe you'll be able to realise how important it is to keep yourself healthy mentally. That you could battle this fear away."

Mumbling something incoherently, Manu turned his head away from Miro. Miro was sure he had started crying again.

"We care about you, Manu," he said firmly. "And while I would never want to force you into anything, I also never want to see you suffer. I would do anything to help you out of this. Thomas would, too. That's all this is. Not overreacting. We want to help you  _actually_ get the situation under control."

 Manu turned his gaze back to Miro again. Indeed there were tears trickling down his face. "Thank you. It's more than I deserve."

"Oh, Manu," Miro said softly, thinking upon all the players who thought they deserved less because they supposedly had everything, of the friends he hadn't been able to help. He also thought that things were going to change, and that this time it would be different- Manu would not suffer in silence. "You deserve the world."

***

_Private chat between Bernd Leno and Marc-Andre ter Stegen_

**Bernd:** r u playing today

 **Bernd:** bet u r

 **Marc-Andre:** Yeah I am ugly

 **Marc-Andre:** What's it to you

 **Bernd:** it's nothing to me

 **Bernd:** nothing but HUMOUR

 **Marc-Andre:** What, is the concept of starting at a senior international level a joke to you?

 **Marc-Andre:** Sad. You should believe in yourself more!

 **Marc-Andre:** One day it'll be a serious option for you!

**Bernd: Do you know 90% of household dust is made of dead human skin? That's what you are to me.**

**Bernd:** i could hire marco to come up with a dramatic way to explain how much i hate you

 **Bernd:** and even he wouldn't be able to do it

 **Bernd:** my hatred is that strong

 **Marc-Andre:** Awww tears are running down my face from my spot in the goalpost as I go to prove myself at an international level

 **Marc-Andre:** Bernd HATES me how will I ever recover

 **Bernd:** i hope u score an own goal and concede a penalty and get nutmegged 

 **Marc-Andre:** Anything else?

 **Bernd:** i hope your voice breaks on tv if you're doing an interview

 **Marc-Andre:** Cool I'll keep it in mind

 **Marc-Andre:** You just stay tuned and watch it all happen

 **Marc-Andre:** Watch me conceed all these goals eh

 **Bernd:** you're still not over it huh

 **Bernd:** anyway

 **Bernd:** im not going to watch

 **Bernd:** it'll just make me feel annoyed and uninspire me

 **Bernd:** it's the opposite effect to watching manu

 **Bernd:** he makes me want to be the best i can be

 **Bernd:** you make me think football is ugly

 **Marc-Andre:** Pathetic

 **Marc-Andre:** A whole host of roasts and you go for "you make me think football is ugly"

**Bernd: enough**

**Bernd:** it's harassment you arschgeige

 **Marc-Andre:** Aw let me serenade you with my arschgeige

 **Marc-Andre:** I'll play sad music and let you get into your feelings

 **Bernd:** nah

 **Bernd:** save it for when u need funeral music

 **Bernd:** when you put 40000 people to death simultaneously with embarrassment

 **Marc-Andre:** Ok I don't know how to respond to that

 **Marc-Andre:** But it doesn't mean it was a good roast

 **Bernd:** but it was?

 **Marc-Andre:** It really wasn't

 **Marc-Andre:** Look I'm going to ask Jonas if he thinks it's a good roast

 **Bernd:** tell him i'll never talk to him again if he says it wasn't

 **Marc-Andre:** Jonas came up with his verdict

 **Marc-Andre:** He said it was awful and that you're a shit person and a shit keeper

 **Bernd:** like jonas would ever say something like that

 **Bernd:** he's probably watching u type that with pure panic in his eyes

 **Marc-Andre:** Lol

 **Marc-Andre:** He just yelled, "I NEVER SAID THAT OMG BERND IS GREAT MARC-ANDRE SAY IT WAS YOU WHAT IF HE GETS MAD AT ME"

 **Bernd:** i could never get mad at him

 **Bernd:** tell him that i love him with all my heart

 **Marc-Andre:** Poor him

 **Marc-Andre:** He j blushed

 **Marc-Andre:** And said "thanks you're great too"

 **Bernd:** honestly if anyone ever came for him they'd face the might of my rage

 **Bernd:** what a sweetie

 **Marc-Andre:** H o n e s t l y

 **Marc-Andre:** Anyway I'd love to stop and chat but I'd rather get type 2 diabetes

 **Marc-Andre:** See you after my meister of the match award flachwischer

 **Bernd:** i'll be here to comfort you when it all goes to shit

 **Marc-Andre:** Bye

 **Bernd:** bye

***

Mesut was changed before everyone else, as per usual, and he was absorbed in thought. The mood was less vibrant today in the changing rooms, because friendlies not holding any competitive weight  _tended_ to mean that players were a little less enthusiastic about them. The only ones really rowdy were the younger ones who were starting (Leroy, to his utmost astonishment, had been told he was starting  _two_ games in a row), and Marco, who loved international games. But Marco was always rowdy.

"What's up?" Sami asked, when it became clear that Mesut wasn't going to reveal anything about why he was looking so pensive. 

Mesut looked up at Sami vaguely. "Thinking."

"About what?"

"Well," Mesut said slowly. "Have you ever put your own name into Twitter?"

Sami considered the question. He  _hadn't_ ever done that, actually. That was strange, seeing as he had been relatively famous for some years now. Maybe he should try it. "No, I haven't. Do you reccomend it?"

"No. I'd only reccomend it if you were a masochist who thrives upon negative comments to do well. It's like opening a door to a room where everyone tells you how shit you are."

"Oh, Mes," Sami sighed. "Why the hell are you  _looking_ for negative comments? You know that half of these people sit around on their ass writing match reports and tweeting, stuff like,  _oh, Khedira's pass just missed Boateng, he's finished, Jogi Low needs to shape up the squad or get out?_  While they probably couldn't score an open goal with Loris- no, I can't be mean about Loris. I just can't. I feel so bad for him."

"You're right," Mesut said glumly. "It just sucks when you give all these assists and be the midfield god you are and the only thing they say is,  _Ozil was invisible,_ he only created space for all his teammates and made _one_ assist..."

"I wish you a speedy recovery," Sami chuckled. "Honestly, you're just one of those players who people love to hate. No, it's not even just you. People just love to hate  _everything._ There are people who could be walking around the fucking Garden of Eden and complaining about a lack of mobile reception. They're naturally miserable. Just use my policy. Whenever I see a mean comment, I think,  _I won a World Cup_."

"Fair and valid," Mesut said, shrugging. "We  _did_ win a World Cup. That should've given us an immunity til the end of our careers. Any criticism about us, we can just say, we won the most important competition in the world. But apparently in football you're only as good as your last game."

Sami sighed contemplatively. "It's true. It's a binary sport. I could score 7 goals in one game, score nothing in one game and suddenly I'm a wreck. It's madness. But, hey, if you're really worried about dealing with criticism, why don't you ask Marco how to handle it? He swaggers around with a ton of unearned confidence, it has to come from somewhere."

"That's true, what's his secret?" Mesut said wonderingly, a rather adorable expression of curiosity stealing onto his face that caused Sami's lips to quirk at the side. And then he had to quickly look away. "I'll ask him now. REUS!"

Marco, who had his shirt gathered around his neck as he was lost in conversation with Mario, turned around at the sound of his name being called. When he saw who was calling him, he grinned, and waddled over towards the two of them.

"You requested my presence? What do you need to me to cure with my healing hands? Maybe your lo-" Marco began, but Mesut cut him off impatiently before he could finish his sentence.

"Nothing, idiot, we just need you to answer a question. How do you deal with criticism?"

Sami looked at Marco curiously. The man had placed a hand to his chin and made to lean against the wall, but accidentally poked himself on a hanging peg.

"Criticism? I'm not too familiar with that concept, care to weigh me in on what it means?" Marco asked. Sami grabbed the shirt around his neck and pulled it so Marco yelped. "Alright, alright, fool! You want to know how I deal with  _criticism?_ Well, it's a rare event, because my performance has been compared on many an occasion to one Lionel-"

"No it hasn't-"

"Messi, and everyone loves him, barring Manu.  Anyway, people find it hard to criticise what they love. But for the people who  _do_ criticise, out of spite for the fact that  _I_ am infinitely better than them, and they can't hope to compete, I adopt a simple policy. I think,  _are your words going to help me win everything?_ No? Then you're irrelevant."

Marco beamed at the two of them as if he had spoken words equal to the weight of Buddha's teachings, before flouncing off again to get changed as Fips' laser stare travelled across the changing room. Sami and Mesut both exchanged looks, ones of mingled exasperation and  _thoughtfulness,_ which was an emotion they had never felt after a conversation with Marco before.

"You know," Mesut said pensively. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but that is some really good advice."

"Maybe we should note this day down in a calendar," Sami joked. "He's right. Most online criticism is irrelevant, unless you really fuck up. And you haven't ever really fucked up, Mes. You're perfect."

Mesut smiled at him genuinely, his eyes twinkling, and reached out to take Sami's hand, and squeezed it gratefully.

When he let go, Sami swore he could feel his skin burning.

***

The game was due to start, and the players were lining up in the tunnel. Lukas was stretching at the back, while Leroy was excitedly chattering about the fact he was playing his second match in a row during the international break. Julian Brandt seemed to be in a state of shock that he was even standing in the starting lineup, looking around as if someone was going to pull him out of a dream, even though it was a friendly and Jogiexperimented in friendlies. The wonderstruck wingers seemed to be waiting for the moment Jogi announced there had been a mistake and pulled them out again. The defenders- Joshua, Thilo, Benni- all looked relaxed, barring Niklas, who despite all his snarky comments to Jerome, seemed to be feeling a little nervous. Mario and Basti had been through this a million times before. Leon always looked impassive. Marc-Andre was standing still, with his expression unfathomable, but his insides squirming.

It wasn't due to nerves- he wasn't  _that_ overjoyed to be starting (even if he had inwardly done somersaults of joy when he had seen the team sheet). He had played much more momentuous games. No, his butterflies were because he was thinking back on his conversation earlier in the day, with a certain Bernd Dickhead. Inexplicably, his thoughts had travelled to all the other times he had started for Germany, whether it be in the youth teams or for senior friendlies, when Bernd hadn't been in the squad or hadn't been placed first on the list. Every time, without fail, Bernd had either messaged him or spoken to him before the match, with a comment that was never friendly, but somehow comforting. The man had never said a nice word about him to his face, yet Marc-Andre had found himself  _waiting_ for the moments where they spoke, because afterwards, he always felt... satisfied?

 _Obviously_ it was because he always managed to find a way to effectively roast Bernd- that was the source of his satisfaction, without a doubt. It wasn't because he enjoyed speaking to the man. What a suggestion! Marc-Andre's lips actually twitched at the thought, but had to straighten his face as he saw cameras in the tunnel. No doubt someone had taken a shot of him smiling and was now rushing to write a headline-  _Ter Stegen finally satisfied to get Germany playing time_ _!_

The Russian players filed into the tunnel alongside the Germans, Igor Akinfeev leading his team. The man gave Marc-Andre a nod and a smile of greeting and it took Marc-Andre a while to realise he was meant to smile back. Akinfeev didn't seem to be perturbed by his late reaction, nor did he seem to be perturbed by the jostling and chattering of his team behind him. He seemed to be along the same lines of Manu, calm amongst the tide of pre-match emotions and team stupidity.

They waited for a while, Leroy tapping Marc-Andre on the shoulder to give him a good luck and Lukas getting a little impatient, wanting just to get out onto the pitch. He always felt stronger in a Germany shirt. Time passed until finally it was time to step out onto the pitch, into Westfalenstadion. Marc-Andre could almost understand where Marco's relentless energy came from now. Playing in a stadium with this atmosphere was electrifying. There was already a drum pounding and Germany fans chanting, just like it had been in the Allianz Arena.

The team strode out, Marc-Andre trying not to swing his arms too hard and trying to match Akinfeev's calm march. There was a tide of white and then there were the red supporters of the Russians, who were also passionate for their country. It was nice playing in Westfalen when the supporters were on your side.

The subs were lolling about on the bench, Marco lazily pretending to conduct the chanting and Thomas and Manu engaged in conversation, with Miro sitting far away from them. Jogi was checking over some last minute details, his eyes flitting up and down the lineup, as the national anthems began. The visitors went first. Marc-Andre gripped the back of his arm behind him as he stared ahead, mentally going over what he remembered about Russian penalty takers. He had the names and directions they went in scribbled down on his water bottle. 

The swelling music of Germany's national anthem started, as did the off-key extravaganza. The only player who seemed to be in tune was Mario, but he looked like he was going to explode with laughter because Basti, while passionate, was probably tone-deaf with how badly he sang. The camera rolled down the line and Marc-Andre tried to ignore the lens, which seemed to enjoy poking the players in the face.

Finally, the pre-match time-wasting was over and the captains, Basti for Germany and Akinfeev for Russia, shook hands and did the coin flip. Germany won the kick-off. The referee gestured for the teams to get into position, and Marc-Andre, hoping Bernd was watching right now, jogged towards his post, getting ready to show him up.

***

Was Bernd drinking beer and sprawled out on his sofa in sweatpants and nothing else when he turned on his TV to watch Germany play? Yes. Was it a sign that he was miserable at his lack of action during the international break and the fact Marc-Andre was going to prove how good at keeping he was while he was doing nothing at home?

... Also yes.

He petulantly shut off his phone, having shot off a picture to Marc-Andre looking awkward during the national anthem on  _bayern won the bundesliga,_ just to show his spite, and folded his arms. The two teams were in position, and the game was about to start. There were a few shots of Jogi pacing up and down with his hands in his pockets, and the Russian manager looking angry already as he regarded the events that were about to unfold. Bernd amused himself by imagining the manager dealing with the likes of Marco, Mats and Thomas. His bald head would swell like a balloon.

It was kickoff, and Germany were in possession, starting off relatively slowly. It was those few moments of passing back and forth to get into things and quickly work out positioning. Indeed, Leroy started off the momentum by running forwards, finding space between some Russian defenders and taking the pass from Basti. Bernd marvelled at how Leroy always looked so determined when he was playing, as if these games were the most important of his life. It was just a  _friendly._

A voice, sounding suspiciously like Marc-Andre, sounded in his head:  _you sure wouldn't be singing the same tune if_ you  _were playing._

Bernd responded to the voice just like he would do to Marc-Andre:  _shut the fuck up._

He  _didn't_ care. He didn't! 

Leroy was working forwards with the ball, managing to niftily avoid Fernandes. He passed to Julian Brandt, who put in a burst of pace- he really was very fast on the ball. Unfortunately, the moped was stopped in its track by Fernandes again- the right back had rushed forwards and cleared the ball off the line before Julian could do anything. Joshua jogged off to take the throw-in, as there was a cut to the bench. Marco was sitting low in his seat, talking to Jerome, who was half keeping an eye on the game and half laughing at what he was saying. Thomas's arms were folded and his expression was oddly serious. Miro was drinking water.

The sight of them all being together gave Bernd a pang.

Joshua threw the ball out for Leon to take, which he neatly managed to catch between his feet. He was a rather dainty player, Bernd thought to himself. Leon started moving forwards again, but was forced to pass backwards so he didn't get dispossessed. Basti took the ball, and jogged back a little bit to put more space between himself and the defenders. So far Russia had barely gotten a touch on the ball, but it was still early days-

Just as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Cheryshev managed to tackle Basti and was running ahead. The winger was relatively speedy but Niklas was on him immediately, forcing him to pass to Smolov. Smolov made ahead, and Bernd's eyebrows lifted as he neared the box, and Marc-Andre started jumping up and down. Surely they wouldn't get a shot on target-?

He didn't. Benni pressured him, so instead of passing to Cheryshev who had half-heartedly entered the box, Smolov put a tame shot well off target, that Marc-Andre jogged to collect, it was so slow. Bernd scowled as his arch-enemy scooped up the ball and threw it to Thilo, who seemed to decide to up the pace a little. He ran forwards, passed ahead to Leroy, though the man was out of position. It was a mark of Leroy's speed that he managed to collect the ball before it went off, and dribbled forwards before zipping it to Julian Brandt. Again, the winger sped up again, and the Westfalen cheers grew louder and louder as he evaded defenders. 

Bernd paused with his lips over his bottle of beer as Brandt crossed the ball into the box, where Mario Gotze was there to meet it. His heart had inexplicably started pounding. A goal at ten minutes in? Surely that would be optimistic to the point of foolishness. Mario managed to catch the ball between his legs and took a shot- it was definitely on target-

But Russia's main man Akinfeev managed to knock it out of the way. No matter. It went out for a corner. The disappointment from the German crowd turned into chanting again as Joshua went out to get the ball for the corner, and everyone got into position. Set-pieces were a strong part of Germany's game. Bernd resumed his beer-drinking as Joshua went to initiate the corner. And then he noticed that Joshua was still growing that terrible moustache. He pulled out his phone quickly.

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Bernd:** i think if someone scores from this corner joshua should be made to shave that atrocity

He returned his attention to the game. Joshua took the kick. It floated into the box. Bernd sat upright as Leon jumped into the air. Everyone knew aerial strength was his game. Perhaps he would prove it with a-

 _Header!_ But nothing came of it. Bernd groaned as Leon took a remarkable shot with his head, but it was just off target. Bernd went back to the group chat.

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Bernd:** joshua you're safe today

Open play started again. Bernd wasn't too concerned about what had just happened. After all, there was plenty of time left in the game and luck couldn't save Russia for long. Indeed, after a rather tame run up to Germany's box, Benni stole possession and worked his way forwards. 

He passed to Joshua who passed back to Benni, giving Mario time to get into a good position to receive the next ball. Bernd watched Mario thoughtfully as he pursued the opponent's box. Everyone in Germany both had unconditional love for Mario, seeing as he had given them their World Cup, but they had also criticised him too. Maybe he would remind them  _why_ he was so loved. Bernd grinned as Mario took a shot, but his grin dropped off his face as Akinfeev caught it.

Russia made their way back to Germany's half. Cheryshev was a rather difficult man to stop, but Marc-Andre was surely well-versed in dealing with him, both of them being in La Liga. Bernd made a face as Marc-Andre indeed saved the shot and it went back to Germany.

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Bernd:** luck won't get you far ter stegen

Finally, it seemed like the monotony broke and said break came in the form of one Leroy Sane. Leroy managed to dribble past everyone, passed the ball to Basti, and ran forwards to receive the pass back. Bernd almost choked on his beer as Leroy took a shot that sank into the top right corner of the net! There was explosive cheering from Westfalen and Leroy jumped in the air, grinning, looking delighted after having scored his first goal for Germany, as his teammates jumped on him with wide smiles on their face. Jogi was nodding when the camera was on him.

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Bernd:** well done leroy u've achieved something keep it up

Germany did keep it up. Perhaps inspired by his goal, Leroy continued the momentum and was initiating good passes all over the place. It seemed that it was only a matter of time before Germany managed to get one through again. 

Or so he thought. Unfortunately for Thilo, his pass was intercepted by Smolov and the Russian striker made his dash for goal. Bernd wondered if karma was truly out to get him for his thoughts. If Russia scored he'd eat his ball. Or would he celebrate because Marc-Andre hadn't kept a clean sheet. He battled between his two instincts, one of them being spite for his rival and the other being hope for his team.

He decided to settle on grudging acceptance as Marc-Andre pulled off a second save. 

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Bernd:** anyone could have saved that shot

 **Bernd:** i would've caught it

 **Bernd:** not knocked it off for a corner

Said corner resulted in nothing, with Niklas heading the ball out for Lukas to take. The wingers were making their way up either side of the pitch and were available to receive the pass, but Lukas instead decided to pass to Mario, putting faith in him as they entered the box. Mario didn't take the shot, however, because he didn't have a clear opportunity, so he gave it back to Lukas, who moved his leg so fast Bernd didn't actually see what had happened until the commentator yelled, " _Tor!_ "

Bernd blinked as Germany celebrated their goal, having not even realised that Lukas had pulled off the shot. On the replay, it seemed that he had put in some of his explosive Podolski power, zipping the ball in so quickly it was a blur. It had been a missile of a shot, Akinfeev having had no chance of reaching it. Lukas had scored goals with a similar level of power over his career- he was quite the formidable striker when on form.

The second goal of the first half established a solid lead and that was enough to satisfy Bernd as Germany entered half-time with a few more chances that were either cleared or saved, with Marc-Andre only having to make one more save. 

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Bernd:** well done everyone

 **Bernd:** apart from ter stegen

 **Bernd:** you were just there

He got up to traipse to his fridge, leaving his phone tossed onto his sofa, to get some more beer. He knew he was acting like somebody in an existential crisis- his apartment was messy, he was badly shaven, looking to get drunk and shirtless. But what else was he to do? Be productive? What a  foolish idea.

When he returned to the sofa, he passed the time by looking through Twitter to see what people were saying about the match. There wasn't much being said about Germany other than details about the scoreline, namely because there was a match between Croatia and Spain going on at the same time for the Nations League, that seemed to be more lively. Bernd half-smirked as he saw news that David de Gea had conceded two. 

He tipped his alcohol down his throat, pushing one hand through his hair and staring lazily at the screen as Die Mannschaft returned to the tunnel, Marc-Andre looking stupid as per usual, and with changes having been made- Basti was out and Julian Draxler was in his place, and Miro was in place of Lukas. The Russians had added in an extra defender to their lineup, probably to prevent the goal difference from deepening. Bernd privately thought that was a good idea.

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Bernd:** can u make it 4-0 pls

 **Bernd:** 2-0 sounds a bit lame 

 **Bernd:** 3-0 is acceptable buuut

 **Bernd:** 4-0 sounds like a better battering

There was the second kickoff, with the Russians taking the ball. It was almost excruciatingly slow, with tentative movements forwards before passing backwards to avoid being intercepted, before Cheryshev finally set the pace of the match by getting past Benni and getting forwards. Bernd looked at the messages he had just sent to the group chat and wondered if he was going to pay for what he had just sent. Fortunately, nothing came of Cheryshev's move as Smolov was unable to receive the pass and the ball went off for a throw-in.

Joshua took the throw-in and it was received by Julian Draxler. It seemed like Draxler had good cohesion with Leroy, or Leroy was good at reading the game, because a slightly dubious pass based off a slightly clumsy reception of the ball managed to reach him. It was almost admirable to see how dangerous Leroy looked on the ball- his dribbling ability, his pace and his tactical awareness made him a serious threat. It was almost guaranteed that he would make an impact on any game he entered.

It was also admirable to watch  _Brandt_ on the ball. The winger wasn't going through good times at his club, but he put in performances that truly were reminiscient of Mesut. He also seemed to embody the role of the no. 10 just as surely as Miro embodied the role of a no. 9, seemingly dancing across the pitch and being very in control of everything. Then there was Leon, who had been considered Germany's wunderkind from the get-go, the spiritual successor to Ballack and Matthaus. And, whilst he was not with them due to to injury, Kai Havertz, was already looking to be another one of Germany's midfield gods. It was almost insane to see how much young talent they had.

 _But you're not one of them,_ the voice that was uncannily like Marc-Andre, he hated it, sounded in his head.  _You're decent enough, but you're not going to be a main man on the squad. Marc-Andre will take Manu's place. You'll never get your chance with the team because you're the same age-_

"GO ON!" Bernd yelled, partly because he wanted to drown out the little voice that appeared when he drank and partly because Gotze had the ball. This time, instead of having to pass it back, he took the shot himself, and it hit the back of the net. It was a lovely little finish that poor Akinfeev just couldn't reach, based off of a flick from Leon.

Bernd wondered if Marco would be overreacting as his boyfriend had scored. Surely enough, when the camera cut to the bench, everyone else looked pleased and were grinning at the third goal, but Marco had grabbed the top of Jerome's head and was shaking it wildly, looking beside himself with joy, as Jerome's eyes rolled.

The game was definitely over, now. 

Bernd drained the last of his second beer, setting down the bottle on the table, and debating whether he should be pathetic and go for a third one or, put a shirt on, go for a jog and freshen up a little. Maybe he should shave. He gnawed his lower lip contemplatively, and then decided that he rarely got to indulge his pathetic side. Nobody would know he was acting like this, it wasn't like anyone had cameras in his apartment- or so he  _hoped._ And it seemed like the game had drawn to a stand-still, anyway. Nothing had really happened since the third goal- there had been a few chances for Miro, but they had either been cleared or saved. 

He traipsed to the fridge, picking up his third bottle, uncorking it with his teeth and tossing the cap aside. With his bottle hanging from his mouth, he went back to the sofa, expecting to see the ball still being in play. He was surprised to find he had missed something in the minute he had taken to get another drink. Everyone was gathered around Germany's end of the pitch, and it looked like Smolov was about to take a penalty. The situation was explained by a replay-it looked like Benni had accidentally gotten a handball in the box. It didn't look like there was any intent behind it, but handball rules were fairly skewed anyway.

Bernd watched as Marc-Andre jumped up and down, getting himself ready, and felt extremely annoyed again.  _He_ was known as the penalty saver out of the two of them, it was what he was best at. If Marc-Andre saved this penalty it would just be the final nail in the coffin. 

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Bernd:** go on ter stegen

 **Bernd:** show us how you bottle things

He waited, nails scraping impatiently at the label on his beer bottle, as Smolov prepared to take the penalty. It would be extraordinarily annoying if Marc-Andre saved this. The clean sheet didn't matter, they hadn't conceded from open play, so it had no bearing on the team's performance.  _Don't_ _show me up again_ , he thought in annoyance.  _I'm just trying to live my life._

But when had Marc-Andre ever had consideration for Bernd's life? Bernd's angry frown deepened and he practically chugged down his beer as Marc-Andre went the right way, and managed to palm away Smolov's effort. The Russian striker had stalked away, looking furious, but the Germany players were patting Marc-Andre on the head and Benni, who had looked annoyed at the handball call, gave him a quick hug.  _  
_

_Private chat between Marc-Andre ter Stegen and Bernd Leno_

**Bernd:** nobody likes u

 **Bernd:** you're the worst

 **Bernd:** u suck

 _Ugh._ Marc-Andre was the fucking  _worst._  Bernd couldn't bring himself to watch the rest of the game. He grabbed his TV remote and slammed his finger on the power button so it flickered off.

***

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Joshua:** hey

 **Joshua:** what's wrong with my moustache

 **Joshua:** it's a new style

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARGH IM SCREAMING!!! AO3 IS DRIVING ME INSANE! THEY KEEP DELETING HALF MY CHAPTERS OMG. and when i save it it doesn't save!!! AND I LOST THE WHOLE LAST CHUNK!!!
> 
> SUCH a long chap, i apologise. as per usual i'm really unsure about the miro/manu half. is it too rushed? is it too unconvincing? impotent? i will say the reason it doesn't feel as good as it should have been was because of ao3 deleting stuff yet again. i even lost my backup ffs. also i'm sorry for all the recent angst, i really am, but life isn't instantly resolvable :(( 
> 
> when we get back to club life, how many people are interested in me writing a rendition of bayern vs dortmund? actually, i'm pretty curious, what bundesliga sides does everyone support? or any side in general? i wanna get to know my audience!
> 
> also lineup:  
> marc-andre  
> niklas  
> benni  
> joshua  
> thilo  
> mario gotze  
> leon  
> basti  
> leroy  
> julian brandt  
> lukas 
> 
> thanks for reading!!!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no. 1  
> part 15 !  
> end of break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after the garbage last chap i thought id make things better :P this is the last international break chapter and it rounds off quite nicely ending after 15 segments. i hope you guys enjoyed it!
> 
> btw: i quickly edited last chap so benni was in the lineup instead of mats, sorry tosay i completely forgot about my baby :(((
> 
> oh also, dedication!!!! this one's to shipcircle!!!! ur comments are so lovely and funny and really make my entire day week and night just like ur amazing <<<3333

_Private chat between Marc-Andre ter Stegen_

**Marc-Andre:** You say nobody likes me buttt I think people were cheering my name pretty loudly 

 **Marc-Andre:** 40,000 ended up dying from an orgasm

 **Marc-Andre:** I'm just that good

 **Marc-Andre:** Managed to save a pen, didn't get nutmegged, unfortunately I didn't get the opportunity to save an own goal

 **Marc-Andre:** Job well done I reckon ! What were YOU up to?

 **Marc-Andre:** HA I see you can't bear to talk to me

***

Two consecutive wins for Die Mannschaft were all well and good in theory, but in practice, it resulted in a hell of a lot of complacency and a racket that was almost impossible to quiet down. Jogi could barely shut them up to congratulate them (he was reconsidering actually doing it in the first place), as the team had been too busy recounting everything they had done well, and arguing over who had been the best member of the squad during the break- naturally, Marco was convinced that _he_ had earned the prize for this.

"Let's review the facts," Marco said firmly, standing atop the bench in the changing room, batting away Jerome, who tried to pull him back down. He cleared his throat and puffed his chest out, assuming a look of importance that made him look like Jogi trying to gain control of the team after somebody had scored an own goal in training. In other words, totally incompetent in the face of incredulity. "I was the best. That is all."

"Hard to argue with _those_ objective facts," Mario said with a fond grin, and Marco beamed back at him sunnily. But everyone else was looking at Marco like he was a bag of mulch and dead leaves- though for Mats, the expression was not particularly different from his resting expression.

"The only objective _fact_ of the matter is that Marco _ist_   _ein Fickfehler_ ," Mats said firmly. "He's out of the running."

"Oh really, supreme and mighty Hummels, our unbreakable wall, the one who had never once made a mistake in his elusive chase for gold, oh heading god of Munich and the Allianz Arena?" Marco said in one breath reeling around on his pedestal to glare down at Mats. "What, pray tell, did  _you_ contribute to our noble country? Is your name on any score sheet?"

"He  _assisted_ your  _only_ _goal,_ " Jerome said disbelievingly. This fact seemed to be sour to both the defender and the forward and they both side-eyed each other. "If anything,  _both_ of you are out of the running. You've literally caused trouble every day of this break, it's a miracle you got anything done at all. I nominate-"

He was interrupted by Marco giving a loud, dramatic groan, falling forwards on top of Mario, who almost collapsed under the sudden weight. Jerome literally just stared at him as he got to his feet, brushing himself off theatrically as if he had rolled in sand after falling down a hill. Marco seemed to notice all the incredulous gazes on him and said defensively, " _What?_ I have feelings too. Jerome's words hurt."

"Just..." Leon said, before Jerome could open his mouth. "Ignore him. Treat him like a Stuttgart player. You know how, when they try to bring up how it'll _definitely_ be their year this year, you just say,  _mm, nice, you do that?_ Do that to Marco."

Mario Gomez and Ron-Robert looked extremely downcast.

"That was so unneccessary," Mario said glumly. "We're trying, you guys. You know, we won the title-"

"Like ten years ago. Literally  _anything_ you say is invalid. Let the big boys do the talking, Mario, honey," Marco said gently, and so Mario turned to Ron-Robert for solace- but his teammate simply shrugged.

"I wasn't around for the good days. Sorry," he said apologetically. "We kind of  _do_ suck."

Mario sat down on the bench and slumped his shoulders, pulling his shirt over his head so he could retreat from the world.

"I was around for the good days," Sami offered. "Before the Bundesliga went downhill under the weight of Bayern's dominance and Dortmund became shit-"

"I will literally pluck out your eyes-"

" _We_ were the kings. Now I'm the king of two other leagues, too." Sami looked thoughtful for a moment, wearing an expression uncannily similar to Marco when he was being overbearingly egotistic. "Wow, guys, my career has been great. I've won three leagues, the Champions League and the World Cup. I'm _such_ a good player, aren't I?"

"Yeah, okay," Mesut laughed. "That's like saying Kiko Casilla is better than Manu because he won three Champions Leagues as a reserve. Don't suck your own dick  _too_ hard, okay?"

Toni, who had been fairly quiet up to this point because honestly, did he  _want_ to engage with the team, muttered something about  _Mesut_ and  _Sami_ and  _dick-sucking_ that made Jerome let out a sudden shrill cackle. Everyone looked at him- Toni, tickled by his own contribution, could only let out a sustained giggle. 

"Sorry," he gasped, as Mesut blinked at him and Sami became interested in his shoelaces. "I was just. Thinking about Kiko. Yeah. It was a funny suggestion. Him being better than Manu."

"Who's better than Manu?" Manu himself had appeared beside them, already changed, his bag slung over his shoulder. Marco, who had just realised what Toni was getting at and had been about to comment on it, frowned at him. He really looked like shit. His eyes were heavily shadowed and pretty bloodshot. How had he not noticed before?

" _I_ am." Marc-Andre, who had been frowning at his phone for a bit instead of getting changed, joined them. "No, sorry. I can't make that joke. You're a god, Manu. Don't be offended! I just don't have that level of self-righteousness to make a comment like that yet."

"It's alright, kid, it takes years of practice," Marco promised him. "Anyway, speaking of  _who's_ better than  _who,_ we've been getting sidetracked, here. We're having a discussion about who's been the best this break and we've just unanimously agreed it's me-"

"That'd only be true if we transported ourselves into another reality where you've somehow lived up to that statement." Marc-Andre tried his hand at being witty again. He looked around at their amused faces. "No, sorry. It sounded better in my head. Too wordy?"

"Too wordy. You've been with us this long and you don't know how to roast yet? Fucking loser," Toni said, putting emphasis on the  _loser_ because Marc-Andre was technically a club rival of his.

Marc-Andre looked miserable. "You managed to eviscerate me with two words. Teach me how to do it. I want to practice on Bernd."

Manu, who had been looking a little vague up until that point, leaned forwards to mutter something to Jerome, who fell into his broad chest and practically started sobbing with laughter. Marc-Andre looked bewildered and Mario Gomez sighed, pulling him down to sit beside him. "It's alright, kid. Just don't... just don't talk."

"Let's get back into this debate," Toni said firmly, because he was convinced his performance had been great and wanted to brag a little. He took Marco's place standing on the bench- the Dortmund forward looked a little annoyed that the place he so commonly inhabited had been taking by a filthy Real Madrid player. "EVERYONE!"

Everyone who was changing, or talking amongst themselves, or kissing, looked up from what they were doing (Jonas had to gently nudge Basti and Lukas, looking guilty as he did so). 

"Come over here. We're talking about who's been the best out of us during this international break."

These words triggered some sort of chain reaction and everyone was rushing to join the group. It looked like a fun debate was brewing- Fips looked like he was preparing himself for war (it was bound to be) and Leroy looked excited- for once during these discussions he could be part of the equation. Thomas, who usually would have been doing back-flips to exaggerate about himself, walked over to stand by Manu with less verve than he usually had. Marco's eyes lingered on the two of them before he turned his attention to Toni, who was conducting the discussion.

"Alright, schwache Schwänze, here are the facts," he said imperiously. "We have five scorers. We have Mario Gomez, we have Mesam- sorry, I mean, Sami- we have Mario Gotze, we have Leroy, and we have Lukas."

"Hey!" Marco said indignantly. "You omitted me!"

"Because you've been  _omitted_ from the running already," Toni said dismissively. 

"Good," Fips said suddenly. "I hope Hummels has, too. These two have elevated my blood pressure far too much considering I exist on a diet that involves literally no cholestorol whatsoever."

"Yeah, Hummels is out," Toni said. "We need objective representation and these two have literally been the stupidest since day one. So, we have five scorers, but we also have the goalkeepers and everyone else's performances to keep in mind. I personally weigh in and say that I was the best, and you can all suck my dick individually."

"And you were sounding so reasonable," Fips sighed, as sounds of indignation floated around the room and the rash arguments began. 

"Hold on, hold on!" Sami said, holding his hands up (he had been staring at Toni for a good while, but had been woken up by all the commotion). "We have other things to keep in mind! Like the quality of our opponent and the importance of our games!"

"True," Toni said contemplatively. "That means I have even more reason to be labelled the best. I faced France."

"Hold on, now!" Leroy, who seemed to have summoned up the courage to talk without fear of ridicule, intervened. "I faced both France and Russia, so my performance is doubled in its value!"

Everyone ignored him.

"I think my performance was pretty great," Marc-Andre offered, from where he was still sitting beside Mario Gomez. "I saved a penalty, and every shot on target-"

"Yeah, all three must have really put you under a lot of strain," Leon snorted. "Shut up, ter Stegen, you're irrelevant in the face of what  _Manu_ did. That quadruple save, as well as the others in the match, absolutely stole everything inside of me. You saved, what, eight on target, from  _France?_ "

Manu blushed as everyone looked at him thoughtfully. "Yeah, I did. But it's not surprising when I do it, so maybe we should give a most improved player to Marc-Andre-"

Thomas burst out laughing and Mario gave Marc-Andre a look, as if to say,  _I told you not to talk._

"What does eight shots on target say about the quality of our defence?" Julian Draxler said, nudging Joshua, who hit him. "I think Fips, Jonas and the centre-backs should be out of the equation."

Fips gave Julian a look that could have burnt a hole through a solid block of titanium. "How dare you. I was perfect. Not a single foul in ninety minutes of play and a 93% pass completion rate. You could only dream of having stats that good."

"You can eat me," Jerome said gently. "I was better than you could ever be in your life. My slide tackling was the only thing stopping the ball from hitting the back of that net."

"Sorry," Jonas said nervously. "I was a little clumsy in that game."

There was an instant rush to reassure him, and Thomas actually hit Julian for making him feel bad. 

"No, Jonas, baby, you were perfect and nothing you ever do is wrong. Ever," he cooed. It was a little weird how protective Thomas was over Jonas- the man went bright pink to the tips of his ears. "It was all Fips. All of it.  _Bad_ right back."

"Thomas."

"If anything, we should be talking about the defence in the Russia game," Benni said brightly. "We didn't let-"

"Benni. You were facing  _Russia._ Sit on my lap and just keep quiet for a bit," Mats said, and Benni glared at him. 

"Go and score a header!"

"Guys!" Leroy broke in before Mats could lament upon the fact his own boyfriend had turned against him. "We've completely forgotten about me? I think I was pretty  _great._ I created all these chances, and all the space for you to score your goals,  _and_ I scored one-"

"Yeah, yeah," Mesut said dismissively. "Cute, you created some space. Have you forgotten you play alongside the god of space? The assist king? My assist to Sami was orgasmic and none of you can say anything otherwise-"

"These jokes just write themselves," Mario Gotze mumbled to Jerome, who had sat on the bench cross-legged, but was facing the wall, because he couldn't endure anything anymore. He was liable to fall apart like a Jenga tower if someone removed another block of his sanity with all these inadvertent sex jokes.

"So I think that  _I_ should win the award for best-"

"Seriously, you're talking, but it's not words spouting out. It's just shit," Sami said with a nauseated expression. He put on a high pitched voice. " _Oh, look at me, I'm Mesut Ozil, I prance around like a ballerina and give easy passes to the best central midfielder in the world-"_

"You play with  _me_ and you're saying that?" Basti said indignantly. "You think you can just play with  _me_ and say  _you're_ the best central midfielder in the world?"

"Uh," Sami said. "Yeah, I do."

It looked like a precursor to another fight. Fips' antennae was twitching as he regarded Basti's slowly reddening face, and decided to step in, but Lukas beat him to it.

" _I_ scored a Podolski power shot and nearly knocked Akinfeev out. It was the most dynamic move we had in the two games and it was so fast Fernandes had literally no idea what had happened."

There were noises of affirmation, that  _had_ been a pretty cool move. But once again, someone brought up the fact that he had scored against Russia, and the torrent of abuse restarted, and Lukas sagged like a deflating balloon. It looked as though this situation would never resolve itself. Fips, who had been cut off by Lukas the first time, stepped in to be the captain again, because otherwise they would be running around in circles til the end of time (Mario looked like he was about to step in and talk about  _his_ goal, best to stop him before he did).

"Look. I think we should base our conclusion on who helped us the most." Fips' eyes travelled next to Thomas. "Manu is the only one who hasn't been overly obnoxious. He pulled off that quadruple save to deny France a goal. As well as another four to keep us clean. Without him we wouldn't have been able to maintain our lead. He was inspired. So I think my vote goes to him."

Manu looked like Fips had clubbed him over the head with a table leg, but Fips remained impassive. Fips was their captain, and he knew how to read his teammates. Though he had not spoken a lot to Manu and Thomas in recent days, their subdued state had not escaped his notice, nor had Manu's poor condition and exhausted stance. It had caught his eye partly because a quiet Thomas was a rare sight, but also because he cared for his teammates. He knew Miro was involved in the situation, and that the man was handling it- it was the only reason he hadn't stepped in yet out of worry.

To Fips' surprise, it was Marco who stood up abruptly and declared, "You have my vote. Manu, it's yours, if it couldn't be me. I can't bear to have any other outfield player take the title of the best, so it's up to the goalkeeper."

His eyes very, very briefly met Fips before flashing away again.

"Of course I agree," Thomas said brightly, putting his hand up. "I was great, but Manu, you stole the show."

"Sure!" Jonas said brightly.

"Eh-" Lukas started, but off of a glare from Fips he went, "Ugh, fine. Barely acceptable."

"I'll go for it," Mesut said. 

"Whatever," Sami sighed.

"C-Cool," Jerome spluttered, still slightly teary-eyed minutes after.

"I'm being gracious, unlike Bernd," Marc-Andre said in a dignified voice. "A yes from me."

"Alrighty,"  Mario Gotze said, because he had met his boyfriend's eyes and had seen something in them.

"Of course," Miro said softly.

"Manu's amazing! Yeah!" Leroy said enthusiastically.

"Of fucking course," Leon said dreamily. "I still remember that moment. Big yes."

It went around the group, peer pressure causing everyone to agree that Manu was the best, even Toni, who looked fairly disgruntled. But also genuine love. Manu was so red that he would've blended well with Bayern's kit.

"Jeez," he mumbled. "You'd have thought I hadn't been that good before."

There were explosive groans at the less than gracious response, but everyone read his badly hidden smile correctly and knew he was secretly delighted. And they were happy to see it. Manu deserved the best.

After all, what would Germany do without their sweeper keeper?

***

_Private chat between Marc-Andre ter Stegen and Bernd Leno_

**Marc-Andre:** Still not replying eh

 **Marc-Andre:** Bet you're wallowing in self pity back home

 **Marc-Andre:** It's ok Bernd! 

 **Marc-Andre:** Maybe I'll get a mild injury at some point and you'll be able to be the second keeper x

 **Marc-Andre:** Why don't you reply to me so I can enjoy these roasts more smh

***

_Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Robert Lewandowski_

**Jerome:** can't believe the international break's pretty much over

 **Robert:** Can't you?

 **Jerome:**... sorry baby

 **Jerome:** but seriously im kind of sad

 **Jerome:** forgot how damn fun it is being with the guys

 **Jerome:** now everyones going off again

 **Jerome:** but im also fucking happy because I GET TO SEE YOU SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Jerome: <33333333333333333333333333333333333**

**Robert:** IKR

 **Robert:** I've literally been sleeping alone and it fuckinggn sucks

 **Robert:** But soon you'll be here and all will be gucc! 

 **Jerome:** seriously it's only like a day and then you'll be right here isn't that crazy

 **Robert:** Imagine being away from Robert Lewandowski for a week thats a no from me

 **Jerome:** ikr

 **Jerome:** i cant believe im about to say this

 **Jerome:** but i'll miss being in close quarters w marco

 **Robert:** Say that again and I'll believe you

 **Jerome:** i'll miss being in close quarters w marco

 **Robert:** I'm still dubious

 **Jerome:** i'll miss being in close quarters w marco

 **Robert:** I'll tentatively believe you

 **Robert:** But I get it he's fun to be around

 **Jerome:** not just him toni i always feel sad to say bye to

 **Jerome:** mario

 **Jerome:** fucking MESUT AND SAMI

 **Robert:** FEUHGIEURH any more news about them?

 **Jerome:** just the fact that they keep making comments that are so easy to manipulate into sex jokes

 **Jerome:** it's truly incredible

 **Jerome:** it's sad they didn't realise anything tho

 **Robert:** Nothing was going to change over one week baby

 **Robert:** Plenty of other breaks and opportunities

 **Jerome:** what if they return to club life and just return to square one

 **Jerome:** that'd be really shit

 **Robert:** If they really are in love with each other

 **Robert:** It'll only grow stronger

 **Jerome:** poetic thoughts b

 **Jerome:** unfortunately they're stuck in a loop of inadvertent sex jokes

 **Robert:** You're condemned to it when you're with Germany

 **Jerome:** indeed

 **Jerome:** i gotta head off now rob see u soon we wanna do some hanging out and stuff before we part ways

 **Jerome:** talk to u sooooooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn <3333333333

 **Jerome:** ich liebe dichhhhhhhhhhhhh <33333333333333333

 **Robert:** Ich auchhhhhhhhhhhhh <33333333333333

 **Robert:** Can't wait to see youuuu <33333

***

When they had finally reached the hotel again after an hour of time-wasting, everyone started to feel a little deflated as they realised soon their time together would be reaching an end and they wouldn't be in close quarters for a while. The Bundesliga players were a little less gloomy, because they could see each other more, but the international players had gotten increasingly more wistful as time passed by.

Mesut in particular was feeling rather miserable. He had known all along that his week with Sami would go by a little too fast, they always did. But it was only when Jogi told them that they should start packing their things away that the fact really hit him and he realised that he would be in England and Sami would be in Italy and it would be a month before they saw each other again.

"Hey, now," Sami said in a voice of false cheer, as they went up the stairs towards the rooms. "At least we get to spend our last night together. Jogi's letting us change back to our original rooming arrangements because we don't have any more matches."

This brightened his spirits a little. Indeed, people were lugging their luggage across the hallway to reach different rooms, shouting abuse or fond goodbyes at their roommates of the past few days. Mats and Marco were fighting yet again, trying to eject each other from their room because neither of them wanted to carry all their things to their significant other's room (Marco in particular had just left his things scattered all over the floor and couldn't be bothered to pick it all up). Fips was making his way down the corridor to break up the ensuing shouting match.

"Bye, Mesut," Lukas said dispassionately, as Mesut took his things past Basti, who was beaming at his boyfriend. "You were a shit roommate and I hated sharing with you."

The door slammed in Mesut's face before he could respond. He suspected Lukas and Basti were on top of each other already.

Jerome was struggling with his suitcases on his way back to Toni and Sami was not deigning to help him. His arms were folded as he leaned against the doorway but his face broke into a smile as Mesut approached. Jerome gave him a filthy look as Mesut entered his room and closed the door in his face, so it was just the two of them.

"Good to be back," Mesut said approvingly. "I swear, I don't know how Basti puts up with Lukas, he sounds like a fucking mechanical drill."

"At least you didn't have to handle Jerome talking to Lewandowski at like three in the morning. I swear, that guy is pretty fragile, he was drunk-sobbing and telling Jerome he saw his basketball, took a shot, missed it and went, _but you would've gotten it in! I miss you so much!_  Mind you, Jerome isn't much better."

"They haven't handled long-distance so well," Mesut said, grinning. "D'you remember the international breaks when Robert was still at Dortmund and Jerome used to go  _on_ and  _on_ about how cute he was? And about how he was so conflicted because he was a club rival but also so cute? And Marco used to get so annoyed about it?"

"Goddamn," Sami laughed. "I remember that. And now look at them. I can't imagine them ever breaking up. They're weak, though.  _We_ handle being apart from each other all the time-"

Mesut raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Uh," Sami said, turning bright red and laughing. "Jeez, that sounded wrong. I mean we handle being apart as friends, not as fucking boyfriends-"

"No, I get it," Mesut said with a grin, though his face was suspiciously warm too. Even though the hotel room was pleasantly air-conditioned. "Your heart can't bear it when I'm away from you. I fill everyone's lives with light-"

"Yeah, okay," Sami cut him off with a sigh. "Narcissistic rambling really only works if Marco is the rambler. I'm going to have to cut you off. But, Mes, you're kind of right. I'm seriously going to miss you. We should try and visit each other on days off, huh?"

Mesut beamed. "Sure! I'll call you when I have one, I can make a trip to Turin. So it's not all doom and gloom, huh?"

The expression on Sami's face was soft at Mesut's words. He opened his arms and Mesut walked into them without hesitation, and they hugged, both of them feeling a little more complete.

In a room just down the corridor, right next to the one where Mats and Marco were being yelled at by Fips (though they were yelling back), Thomas had just waved off Mario, who had gone off to join the kerfuffle with an expression of resignation on his face. He was waiting a little nervously, picking at the hem of his hoodie, waiting for Manu to arrive. Eventually, he did, pulling his bags into the room and not looking at Thomas.

"Welcome back, eh?" Thomas said a little anxiously. "Feel alright, Schatz?"

"Yeah," Manu said quietly. He raised his head to make eye contact. Thomas winced. He still didn't look good at all. He looked ill. But his expression was neutral. "Thomas?"

Thomas bit his lip. "Yeah? You okay?"

He didn't like the look on Manu's face. In his experience Manu usually looked calm when he was angry about something, but he didn't know what he could be angry about. He had a suspicion it had something to do with last night. Manu had briefly told him that he  _had_ had a dream last night, but he had told Thomas that they would talk about it after the match. And now...

"I know, you know," Manu continued, still impassive. Thomas stared at him and his stomach plunged. "I know you told Miro."

 Thomas felt a little faint but he did not look away from Manu. Had Miro  _told_ him? After Thomas had begged him not to?

"Manu..." he mumbled. "I'm-"

Manu raised a hand. "It's okay. I'm not angry. And it wasn't Miro who told me. He kept his word. I just guessed."

Relief crashed through Thomas and he could've laughed, but he didn't, because Manu still looked serious. 

"I  _was_ pissed," Manu said thoughtfully, and Thomas winced. "I was really pissed. But Miro helped me realise that it's stupid to be. You were just trying to help me. You love me. And I love you too. The fact that you went against me because you were worried shows that you care, so much. I understand that. I'm sorry I've been giving you a hard time for it and worrying you more."

Thomas was still unsure about where he was going, so he kept quiet.

"Thomas," Manu said in a slow voice, now sounding less relaxed and a little more anxious. "Miro... Miro told me to see someone. And I still think it's a stupid idea. And I'm still scared about it. But... if I did. Hypothetically. You'd stand by me, right? You'd help me no matter what happens?"

Thomas felt himself melt away as pure delight rose in him like molten lava bubbling through the ground, exploding to the surface. "Manu, you idiot, of course I would! I'd do fucking anything for you and I'd never ever not! Are you really thinking about it?"

"You're sounding a little too excited," Manu said, but he was grinning a little. "It's still a solid  _maybe._ Nothing for certain. You know that, right-?"

"Maybe's enough!" Thomas cried, and he launched himself at his bemused looking boyfriend, just as the bellowing outside reached max point.

"WILL YOU JUST DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS! YOU TWO ARE SO ANNOYING! YOU'RE LITERALLY THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE! IT'S NOT THAT HARD! JUST DECIDE WHICH ONE OF YOU IS LEAVING!" Fips roared, now bright red in the face with fury.

"NO! I'M NOT GIVING HIM THE SATISFACTION OF SEEING ME DRAG ALL MY STUFF DOWN A CORRIDOR! WAIT, GOTZE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" Mats shouted back. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

"Uh," Mario said, gesturing at his stuff. "I'm coming to my room?"

"YOU SEE? HE'S HERE ALREADY! CLEAR OUT, HUMMELS, I SWEAR TO-" Marco yelled, but Mats interrupted by cupping his hands over his mouth and bellowing:

"BENNI!"

There was a moment of quiet and then Benni poked his head out of the doorway. " _Yes?_ "

"Bring your stuff down here! You're coming to this room! I'm not leaving!" Mats said furiously.

"Howedes, if you leave that roo-" Fips and Marco began in unison.

Benni silenced them with a raised hand.

"You want me to leave my room and drag all my things down there when Leon has just left?" Benni asked in a soft, dangerous voice that Mats seemed to recognise immediately. "And what, pray tell, would possess you to think I'd do something like that?"

Mats pointed weakly at Marco, who glared defiantly back, and spluttered out some words. "He- Reus- annoying- stupid- satisfaction-"

"Listen, my dear Mats," Benni said gently. "You're going to take your things and come to my room and Mario Gotze is going to enter  _his_ room. I am not going to move a single inch from where I am now."

"But-"

"BUT NOTHING! I'VE BEEN DEALING WITH YOU AND MARCO FOR THE PAST WEEK AND AT THIS POINT I'D RATHER STICK A RUSTY PAIR OF PLIERS DOWN MY THROAT AND EXTRACT MY OWN BALLS FROM INSIDE MY BODY THAN DEAL WITH YOU TWO ANYMORE! MATS JULIAN HUMMELS, JUST COME TO MY ROOM AND STOP BEHAVING LIKE A CHILD! AND YOU, REUS, DON'T LOOK SO SMUG! YOU'RE JUST AS ANNOYING, NO, EVEN MORE ANNOYING THAN HE IS! KEEP IT UP AND I'LL MAKE A HAT OUT OF YOUR FUCKING ENTRAILS!"

Silence. And then Mats dashed into the room to collect his luggage and Benni retreated back into his room.

Fips looked a little offended. "I was just about to say something like that. He stole my thunder."

***

Mats and Marco did not remain subdued for long. At dinner that evening, which was also partly a celebration for the week's good work, Mats pulled out Marco's chair as he went to sat down and the man landed on his ass, looking like a fool. Mario just managed to grab Marco's wrist before he could reach for the jug of iced water and Fips practically shoved Mats to the other end of the table.

Thomas and Manu entered the dining room looking a lot happier than they had done for a while, and took seats by Marco and Mario, the former of which peered at them over the glass of water he was tipping down his throat. Before he could say anything, Marc-Andre, Mesut, Sami, Jerome and Toni took seats around them, followed by Leroy, the Julians, Jonas and Joshua. They were already causing a racket, reaching for food and snatching it out of each other's grasp, resulting in a lot of swearing.

The attention shifted to Marc-Andre, who was staring down at his phone.

"Who're you texting?" Sami asked, as Jerome slapped his arm for taking the noodles away from him. 

"Bernd," Marc-Andre said vaguely, without fear of mockery (he was too distracted for that). "Hey, Mesut, have you heard from him today? Or Lukas, where's Lukas? He's just gone silent all day."

"Worried?" Leroy asked. "I thought you didn't care at all about him."

"I don't," Marc-Andre said quickly. "I just- I-"

"Well, to answer your question," Mesut cut in through the babbling. "I did hear from him. He messaged me something about a training schedule after the break and we talked a bit about the match."

"When was that?" Marc-Andre asked, frowning.

"Uh." Mesut shrugged and fished out his phone. "Like, three hours ago."

"Oh." Marc-Andre took in the information. So Bernd was ghosting him. No matter. Who even cared? He stowed his phone away in his pocket. "Well, okay. Whatever."

"Not going to ask him why he's blanking you?" Jerome asked, beating Sami to the soy sauce and being the one who received the slap this time. 

"No," Marc-Andre said flatly. "I don't even care. He can do whatever. I don't even want to talk to him."

Everyone avoided each other's gazes. Mats, from his spot down the table, yelled, "What's going on, guys?"

"Shut up, Hummels!" Marco yelled back.

The conversation turned to what everyone was feeling about club prospects, and as per usual, devolved into a roasting session. Everyone just managed to contain themselves when poor Jonas started talking about the 2.Bundesliga- nobody wanted to make any jokes about it, because that would just be in poor taste.  _Everyone_ joined in roasting Toni and Leroy, it was a group activity. And when Lukas and Basti arrived to the table late, both of them positively glowing, the roasting was turned up several notches with Fips getting involved too.

But it couldn't be ignored that there was a deal of wistfulness about the roasting. 

Finally, Jogi stood up at the foot of the table to make a speech, just as Marco was about to take his time in the flames. Thomas, in his newly rejuvenated state, loudly hushed everyone, making more noise as he pretended to try and make everybody quiet. Everyone joined him, all of them shushing each other. 

Jogi wondered what he had done to deserve a team consisting entirely of schoolchildren.

"Plan A was to start this speech with praise, but there are many more letters of the alphabet," he deadpanned, glaring at all of them. "Now I will start this speech by saying I am glad I don't see you every day like your club managers do. I don't know how they take it. I can handle summer tournaments but every day- no, I'm getting too old to think about that."

Fips nudged Thomas before he could open his mouth, though his lips twitched imperceptibly, happy that Thomas had seemingly returned to his normal state.

"Now, I'll preface this by saying I am pleased with your-" Jogi paused to let the necessary mockingly shocked whoops take place, before continuing. "-performance this break. Barring certain lacks of focus, you could tell when we played we were calm and confident. This is good. This is what I like to see. I'm also glad you seem to be taking this Nations League seriously. It is excellent training for the big tournaments."

Nods.

"Going forwards, I hope we can carry forwards this momentum. I hope you will continue to represent our country with pride."

His lips twitched as he said it. The thought of this lot representing anything other than a challenge to one's self-control was seemingly ridiculous. But he meant what he said.

"Enjoy your return to club life, and continue to remain healthy and in form, as well as disciplined. I can rest easy knowing Mats and Marco will not be together, so I will still have a centre back and a forward alive for the next break. That's all. I'll enjoy my time off from you."

Choruses of " _awws_ " travelled around the room and everyone, led by Thomas and Marco, chanted, " _We love you, Jogi!_ "

"Hm," Jogi said as he sat down again. "God only knows why I haven't retired yet."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i paid money, travelled to gelsenkirchen, sat in the crowd and watched us play really well for about 85 minutes. i was cheering throughout the game, believing we'd finally get a win at the end of the calendar year, and then i watched those two goals go in. i was so angry i was literally incoherent. I CAN'T BELIEVE OUR FUCKING LUCK!!!!! that's the reason i couldn't post a chapter yesterday. i just wished i had stayed at home ffs.
> 
> that rant aside (im still furious), i hope u enjoyed the chap :P spoiler alert: germany win EVERYTHING in this fic because i'm a biased angry scumbag. sorry other national teams :P and sorry teams that aren't bayern :P (tho i might give schalke leeway i feel bad)
> 
> just to let u know, although this is the last international break chapter, the next chapter will still include everyone making their way back and etc. so if u thought there weren't enough goodbyes and etc, next chapter!! it'll all be rounded off :P


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> return to club life :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter today!
> 
> i totally make up the process for players going home in this but it offered excuse for some more bants and a lil angst... ok i need to also set some things straight. the biggest paradox of this fic is absolutely benedikt howedes. please do not question the logistics of anything benni and mats live together although benni is a schalke player ok it's just the truth and word of god i told u multiple times reality doesn't exist ok :P and im kind of kicking myself for not keeping julian and leon at schalke there isn't enough representation in the NT! it's all bayern heavy!!
> 
> also after what happened today i needed to write a lil angst :(

 Manu did not sleep peaceably that night. His dreams that night involved psychologists dissecting him with scalpels while he was strapped down, ignoring his pleading, explaining at the top of their voices everything that was wrong with him to a derisive crowd. He progressively became more desperate, begging for them to let him go, saying that his mental state  _wouldn't_ affect his keeping, all he wanted to do was play-

And Manu awoke with a gasp, paralysed with terror as one of the masked, robed figures raised his medical instrument and brought it down hard onto Manu's face. But there was something about this sudden return to reality that was different. For one thing, he hadn't woken Thomas with screaming- his boyfriend was still lying calmly in his arms, his eyes closed. Manu took several deep breaths to try and steady his panic, running his fingers through Thomas's hair as he remembered that he wasn't tied down and being experimented on, but was safe in bed.

Eventually, sunlight began to stream through the windows as Manu stroked Thomas, staring wistfully into space. When Thomas finally began to stir, he shifted in Manu's arms and blinked sleepily at him.

"No nightmares?" he murmured sluggishly.

Manu couldn't bring himself to tell the truth as he looked into Thomas's hopeful face. "No nightmares."

Thomas beamed and leaned against him, and Manu continued to caress his hair, staring blankly into space. In a short while, they would be forced to get out of bed, so they could all return to their respective cities.

That short while seemed to last forever, until the relative peace of the morning atmosphere was awoken by Jogi's yell that the international-bound players all needed to start getting their shit together. Mario and Marco would be going to their home just a few miles away, so they had no need to hurry- in fact, they were busily  _not_ hurrying at that very moment. The Bundesliga players were also relaxed, their  journeys weren't particularly long either, they were just getting on trains. It was the international players who were hopping about on one leg, throwing around the belongings they had not bothered to pack yet. They'd be flying all over the place.

Basti, who was propped up on one elbow watching Lukas hastily cram things into his suitcase, found it hard to stop the lump in his throat from getting bigger as Lukas looked around frantically for his things. The lump exploded as Lukas turned around to look at him after struggling to zip up his suitcase, and then frowned, asking, "Basti, are you alright?"

"Yeah!" Basti said brightly, and then he burst into tears.

"Oh, Basti," Lukas said, sitting down by his boyfriend as Basti tried to stop crying and failed miserably. Lukas hated it when Basti cried because it usually tended to make him cry too. "I know how you're feeling. We've just got to do what we always do, huh? Soldier on. Settle for phone sex."

Basti gave a wet giggle, but didn't stop sobbing. It didn't matter what Lukas said, whenever they had to separate it was always the same thing, every time. Lukas was the slightly less open of the two of them- he tended to let out his emotions about the distance between them in private. But Basti always ended up weeping when it was time to part, and so Lukas did too.

"Come on, my love," Lukas said in a shaky voice, pressing his forehead against his boyfriend's, thumbing away the hot tears seeping from those beautiful eyes. "You know I'm right by you. Always. No matter where we are!"

"I want you to  _really_ be here," Basti whispered back. "Not in fucking London all the goddamn time. I want you by my side and in my arms."

Lukas felt tears squeezing out of his own eyes. "I know. It's horrible. There's not a day that goes by where I don't miss you. But we can visit each other in our days off, okay? I'll go straight to Munich and we can spend all day with each other-"

His voice broke off as a thought travelled across his mind. He didn't want to only spend  _days_ with his love. He wanted to spend  _all_ the time with him.

"I wish I could see you off," Basti said desperately. "Fuck the train. I'll get another ticket. I'll go to the airport-"

"Basti," Lukas said gently, planting a kiss on his boyfriend's lips. "If you come it'll be even harder to say bye. Come on, baby, we knew this wasn't going to last forever, no matter how beautiful it felt. We've handled this before, haven't we?"

"Barely!" Basti wailed, and he dissolved into even harder sobs as Lukas smiled sadly and embraced him, deciding it was just better for him to let it all out.

Meanwhile, Jerome did not seem to share Bastian's sadness as he watched Toni sit on his suitcase and battle with the zip. He was in the middle of texting Robert, the excited feeling he associated with a teammate receiving a penalty stirring in his stomach.

_Private chat between Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng_

**Robert:**  I'll come to the station

 **Jerome:** ofc u will

 **Jerome:** am gonna be dying the whole journey

 **Jerome:** it's pointless beyond belief there's still a few hours left

 **Robert:** :(

 **Robert:** I swear we've just gotta go driving or something and go to dinner tonight to celebrate everything

 **Jerome:** a done deal 

 **Robert:** My brain's like

 **Robert:** Kabadaboosh

 **Robert:** I'll have you in my arms SO soon

 **Jerome:** i'm kabadathrilled

 **Jerome:** skskskskks i am smiling at the thought of u

 **Robert:** I always smile at the thought of you

 **Jerome:** YOU'RE KILLING ME HERE LEWANDOWSKI

 **Jerome:** JUST KISS ME ALREADY

 **Robert:** Depends on how fast it takes you to get here ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Jerome:**

Toni yelled in annoyance as he still couldn't jerk the zip from where it was obstinately stuck. "Hey, dick face! D'you want to fucking help me out?"

"No," Jerome said, after a few moments of contemplation. "I don't."

Muttering various strings of words, Toni stood up, easing the tightness in his legs from where he had been squatting for so long. And then he lifted his suitcase up, taking a hold of the zip.

"Right, you stupid bastard suitcase," he said firmly, a malevolent glint in his eyes that sometimes appeared during matches, when he was about to initiate a game-changing pass. "I'm going to  _rip you apart-_ "

As he spoke the words, he yanked the zip  backwards with so much force the suitcase actually opened- and half of the contents fell out. Jerome took a video of Toni bellowing with great volume and expression and sent it off to Robert, laughing whilst feeling content.

 **Robert:** Thats prob what he looks like after a Real Madrid domestic fixture

Jerome showed Toni the message and Toni said many words in Spanish that Jerome didn't know- but he didn't dare ask for clarification.

In a room down the corridor, a former Real Madrid player himself was spending an inordinate amount of time painstakingly shaving his beard while another former Real Madrid player quietly packed his own things away. Mesut and Sami had grinned at each other in the morning as they had jumped out of bed to start getting ready, but the reality of what the day would bring- leaving each other- had somewhat sobered them. 

Sami tried to ignore the leaden feeling in his stomach as he gently tugged his razor across his jaw, focusing every bit of his being into getting the perfect shave. Mats would be in tears at how intricate it was going to be. Mesut was being unusually neat as he piled his shirts into one corner of his suitcase and several pairs of underwear. Putting his attention into it helped him keep his mind from wandering to sad thoughts.

There eventually came a point where they couldn't ignore their emotions anymore- there wasn't enough to distract them. As Sami, wearing his heavy, stylish jacket, re-entered the room, Mesut found himself instinctively glancing away, dreading the moment where he would go out of sight for a month. But the man came right up to him and forced him to look, placing both hands on his shoulders.

"C'mon, Mes," he said brightly, but he also sounded a bit flat. "It's time for you to go back and get those away wins!"

"It's time for you to eat me," Mesut said, without much feeling. He gazed wistfully up at Sami. "Enjoy winning everything in the Farmer's League."

"City won your league by how many points, again?" Sami's retort, again, sounded somewhat half-hearted. 

The two of them stared at each other again, floundering around for something to say, but this time there were no heartfelt declarations, nothing to warm either of their heavy hearts. Sami cleared his throat and released his grip on Mesut's shoulders, and Mesut stepped away and looked around, not knowing why he felt so suddenly disappointed.

The eternally efficient Miro was one of the few international players (in fact, he was the only international player) who wasn't panicking as he closed his suitcase and heaved it onto the bed. He made a face as he looked around at his now half-empty hotel room- Mario had not yet fully tidied up his side.

"Looking forward to returning to Rome?" the Stuttgart striker asked lazily, still cocooned in blankets. "Italy's a long way away. I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Mario," Miro said gently. "It won't be for too long."

"Really?" Mario asked dubiously, turning onto his front and kicking his feet up. "Time seems to run as slowly as Per when you're playing shit... I assure you this international break will feel like ages away after our first match back."

Miro laughed. "Don't worry. You know Stuttgart, you pick things up in the second half of the season-"

" _Just_ escaping the relegation zone, my idea of an ideal career-"

"You'll rebuild in time. Don't get too down." Miro went over to Mario to pat him on the head- the man looked up at him through dark eyelashes and suddenly seemed to be acting quite coy. "I'll be watching all your matches, obviously."

"Naturally. Can't miss a Bundesliga stalwart," Mario exhaled, deflating a little as Miro moved away from him again. "I'll obviously be watching all  _your_ games too, Opa. Don't do your back in with the flips you're bound to do."

"Ha. I've had to stop doing those. Luan and Noah emulate them at home and it won't do if my sons break their necks trying to copy their Vati."

The grin on Mario's face was suddenly a little too stretched out. "Ha... Luan and Noah. Yeah. Your kids."

"That's right," Miro said, a little puzzled at the way Mario said it. But he smiled anyway, Mario tended to have a strange way of fizzling out of conversations sometimes. 

Miro's thoughts travelled to Manu as he gazed at all his luggage. He was going to have to exchange a few words with Thomas before he left.

More than a few words were being exchanged in Leroy and Marc-Andre's room. The Barcelona goalkeeper was in a towering temper, storming around and shouting while he looked for one thing or another while the Manchester City yelled back, goaded past endurance at Marc-Andre's inexplicably awful mood. 

"For the last time, I didn't take your damn cologne! You must have dropped it somewhere!" Leroy hollered, as Marc-Andre grabbed a handful of clothes and shoved them into his suitcase. "Why the fuck would I want to smell like- like a freshly rained on pine forest? I have my own, unique scent!"

"Yeah, shit!" Marc-Andre shouted back, slamming more stuff inside. "Where the  _fuck_ is- ugh! For  _fuck's_ sake!"

He had just found the bottle beneath a pile of jeans.

"What the fuck is your problem, Marc-Andre?" Leroy said angrily, as the man started stalking around the room again. "Why have you suddenly transformed into a huge dickhead? This isn't the way we should be saying goodbye to each other, man! We should be being nice to each other! What have I done?"

" _You_ haven't done  _anything!_ " Marc-Andre yelled at him, though his accusatory tone contradicted his words. "It's got nothing to  _do_ with you!"

"Well, you're sure not  _acting_ like it!" Leroy stormed. "Yelling at me and being all moody-"

"You're so stupid!" Marc-Andre shouted. "It's not about you! It's about that stupid idiot  _Bernd!_ "

And he left Leroy blinking as he seized up his finally packed luggage and stormed out of the room, practically tripping over everything in existence as he went.

He practically shoved past Jonas as he hurried down the corridor. The Koln left-back looked startled and turned back to call after him, "M-Marc-Andre, are you okay-?"

"It's fine, Jonas," Leroy called from inside the room. "He's just being moody. About  _Bernd,_ apparently."

Jonas gave Leroy a weak smile before hurrying ahead, holding something in his hands. He stopped in front of Room 318, knocking timidly on the door.

Benni answered it, looking surprised to see him.

"Hi," Jonas said nervously, holding up a glass bottle of fragrance. "I was just wondering, um- Marco gave this to me as a present last night, and I've just remembered everything about the razor, and I was wondering, is this actually Mats' or-?"

Benni sighed.

"Yeah, it's Mats'. Jesus, Marco will never stop, will he? Thank you, Jonas, sorry you lost your 'present', which was actually mine to him. I'll just pretend it was there all along or Mats will try and find Marco and flay him alive." He took the bottle from Jonas and smiled at him, and Jonas smiled shyly back before rushing away again, hoping Mats wouldn't appear and find out about the mixup and get him involved again.

The Bundesliga players were finally starting to rouse and get moving, because they wanted to say goodbye to the international players before they departed before taking their separate ways around Germany. Luckily, Jonas managed to dart past Marco's room just as the Dortmund forward flung open his door to the world dramatically.

The last day of the international break wouldn't be the best day for Marco and Mats to finally murder each other.

***

When everyone was as ready as they could be (which was to say, only barely prepared but forced to hurry because Fips was starting to get ratty), they all stood in the hotel lobby with their goodbyes hanging off their lips. Those going to the airport would still remain together, but the Bundesliga players were all ready to set off.

"Bye, asshole," Toni said shortly to Jerome, going for the handshake, but he was consumed in a hug anyway and resigned himself to it, patting Jerome on the back. 

Marco and Mario were both hugging Mesut and Sami. Mario seemed to be overcome by giggles as he and Marco switched hugging partners, and Sami just watched him flatly, though there was a flicker of fondness in his eyes.

Mario and Miro shared an embrace. When Miro withdrew from him, he cupped the Stuttgart striker's face in his hands and smiled affectionately before letting go and moving onto Thomas, leaving the man standing there slightly open mouthed.

"I hope everything goes okay with you, Thomas," Miro said softly, squeezing Thomas's hand before also giving him a big hug. "Please call me, and let me know what happens with Manu. I wish you luck."

"Oh, Opa! I'll miss you so much!" Thomas sniffed, about to explode into tears, but he resigned himself to burying his face in Miro's shoulder.

Basti was sobbing again, clinging onto Lukas as if he never wanted to let go (he  _didn't)._ Fips was patting Basti sympathetically as he quietly said his goodbyes to Lukas, who was hugging his boyfriend with a pained expression on his face. It was always difficult watching the two of them separate.

Julian and Joshua were hugging so tightly it was hard to tell if they  _would_ be able to let go.

Marc-Andre seemed to have recovered from his sudden fit of anger earlier in the day and was awkwardly shaking Manu's hand. The taller goalkeeper gave Marc-Andre an embrace and patted him on the back.

"Hope things work out with you and Bernd," he said cheekily, and a shadow passed over Marc-Andre's face.

"Yeah, that'll only happen when Beckenbauer returns to become an international player," he said flatly. He really meant it, despite his convoluted wording. Leroy, who was waiting to say goodbye to Manu, rolled his eyes. The two of them had made up after their temporary dispute of the morning, though Leroy still didn't know what Bernd had done.

Jonas cringed as Marco charged towards him.

"Good luck with everything, Jonas!" he said loudly, squashing Jonas with a hug, even though Jonas wasn't actually leaving yet. "Look, my hug is transferring some of my brilliance over to you. You're brilliant now. Even  _more_ brilliant. Enjoy the  _present_ I gave you!"

He looked hopefully over at Mats, but the man was busy exchanging embraces with Mesut and Sami. 

"Ahahahaha that _kind_ present." Jonas's was suddenly so nervous he was sure he would fall apart. "Y-Yeah, thank you for that! And thank you! For your luck! Even though we aren't really saying bye yet-?"

Marco patted his cheek, clearly distracted, and flounced off to throw in his final few roasts of Marc-Andre. Jonas sighed in relief.

Manu gave Miro a big hug, trying to put a lot of unspoken emotions into it, because he couldn't really express them through his words. Luckily Miro seemed to understand, because when he withdrew from Manu he gave him a soft smile.

"You are strong, Manu," he said gently, and Manu could have started crying just like Basti was.

Finally, having done his rounds with everyone else (and having been delayed by roasting Leroy and waiting for Basti to release hold of Lukas for a moment), Jerome reached Mesut and Sami. The two of them regarded him with a grin, and then, without even thinking about it, they rushed into each other, dissolving into one big group hug. Jerome thought about Robert's words from last night as he squeezed them. Their love would only go stronger.

"We're all counting on you," he said with a grin, when the three of them broke apart. Mesut and Sami exchanged puzzled looks.

"For what?" Sami asked.

Jerome waved a hand airily.

Eventually the goodbyes had to end and the players had to depart. Jerome practically waved his hand off as he watched them retreat, particularly gazing at Mesut and Sami and winking as Toni glanced back one more time to give him the middle finger. When they were all gone, everyone stood in relative silence, Basti now hugging Fips as he cried.

***

The departure of Bundesliga players was less bittersweet, as they would be seeing each other regularly and wanted nothing but failure for each other domestically. When Jonas said goodbye, however, there was a great deal of sadness in everyone as they all hugged him individually. They wouldn't be seeing him as much anymore.

"Bye, everyone," he said with a sad smile. "Good luck with all your club stuff over the next weeks! I wish you all the best! Thanks for a great week!"

"We love you, Jonas!" Thomas said brightly, and the man blushed. "Good luck with your club stuff too! I wish Koln the best!"

There was a chorus of agreements before Jonas set off, a lonely figure.

"I could cry," Thomas said, the second he was out of sight, waving his hands in front of his face. "I could seriously fucking cry. Oh my god."

"That kid," Manu said sadly. "I'll really miss him."

It was almost as if several years would pass before they all saw each other again.

Mario and Marco remained with everybody as the players from Leverkusen, Hoffenheim and everyone else went off. Soon it was just Bayern and Dortmund left. 

"Aw, Basti!" Mario said very sadly, as he went to embrace the still heavily tearful Basti. "I hope you feel better soon!"

It was a sign of how upset Basti was that Marco didn't make fun of him at all. In fact, he understood the man completely. "You'll be alright, Schweini. Keep your head up. Lukas wants to watch you win, alright? Just not against Dortmund. He'll be proud when he sees you're second in the Bundesliga a month from now."

He patted Basti on the back as the man's tears soaked his shirt, and then released him and turned around to the rest of them.

"Well, it's been a good fucking week. I'm glad I proved myself to be better than all of you."

He hugged Jerome first, then Thomas, then Manu, then Fips (after briefly checking the man wouldn't murder him), then everyone else, and Mario followed. That left Mats for last, and the two players regarded each other highly suspiciously.

Fips's expression was suddenly wary.

"Matthias," Marco began diplomatically. "You really suck. You're a shit player, and a shit person, and I stole your cologne and gave it to Jonas as a present."

"Well, he clearly realised it actually belonged to me, because he gave it back because I still have it," Mats said without missing a beat, smiling smugly at Marco's downcast expression. "Anyway. Marco. You're the most annoying person on the planet. You literally can't shut up. You're a narcissistic bastard. And I hope we defeat you and knock you down into relegation."

They regarded each other for several moments.

"Well, you can't say fairer than that," Marco said finally, extending his hand for a handshake. Mats accepted the handshake and did his best to break the other man's hand. 

Fips sighed. "I suppose it's the best I could hope for."

"Auf wiedersehen, then, bitches!" Marco said brightly, as Mario very quickly hugged Mats. "I hope your train gets delayed! See you in a few weeks for the fixture where we will make you all cry!"

"Bye to you too," Thomas called back, as Marco and Mario took each other's hands and turned around to walk away, absolutely ready to wrap themselves up in each other after a long week. 

Jerome grinned after them, not feeling too sad. As Marco said, he'd see them in a few weeks anyway. As the Bayern team all turned to look at each other, sighing, ready for their train journey home, he quickly opened his phone to where Robert was his lock screen. His love would soon be right in front of him, and he couldn't wait to be in his arms again.

***

_Private chat between Lukas Podolski and Bastian Schweinsteiger_

**Lukas:** at the airport honey :((((

 **Lukas:** missing u so much already

 **Lukas:** just wanna ditch all these assholes and run off back to u

 **Basti:** the feeling's mutual im waiting for the train

 **Basti:** but it's a train to the wrong place :(

 **Lukas:** basti my baby :(((

 **Basti:** am still crying you know :

 **Lukas:** come on baby we'll video call as soon as we get back home yeah??

 **Basti:** ofc

 **Basti:** it's not just the same :(

 **Basti:** my entire mood is just : :(

 **Basti:** nobodys making fun of me bc i look so pathetic

 **Basti:** fips is just gently patting my shoulder

 **Lukas:** mesut isn't talking to me

 **Lukas:** he's just slumped over sadly

 **Basti:** he probably gets how we feel :(((

 **Lukas:** he has NO IDEA

 **Lukas:** what i'd do to be with u right now

 **Basti:** ahhh luki 

 **Basti:** i'll literally hyperventilate lol

 **Lukas:** just breeeatheee

 **Lukas:** i swear at the first opportunity i'll come to munchen

 **Lukas:** ill get injured somehow

 **Basti:** no luki don't joke about that

 **Basti:** stay happy and healthy that's what i want

 **Basti:** nothing else

 **Basti:** actually id like some phone sex once in a while

 **Lukas:** ok my darling

 **Lukas:** anything for u

 **Lukas:** a nude a day keeps the hamstring injuries away

 **Basti:** profound advice but entirely true

 **Lukas:** keep winning okay my baby

 **Basti:** always

 **Basti:** we're bayern!!!

 **Basti:** :)))

 **Basti:** call me straightaway straightaway when u get home ok

 **Lukas:** obviously

 **Lukas:** i love you so much

 **Basti:** und ich <33333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sigh. there's gonna be another chapter. dedicated to more travelling/goodbyes. it would've felt weird jammed all into one chapter. this is technically the last chapter where everyone's together for a bit. next chapter will be everyone split up and on their way home. im really sorry i suck i swear rob will make an appearance again soon :(
> 
> so! onto the sad news of what happened today.
> 
> the scouts i were talking about before WERE bremen f.bundesliga scouts, and they WERE watching my progress. but my coach told me today they looked at my injury record and their interest declined.
> 
> needless to say i needed to turn to writing this fic and ive been angrily crying for about two hours. lmao. ugh. i hate my life. one day ur dreaming of being part of the dfb frauen and the next second ur dreaming of just even being fucking being in the hoffenheim reserve team. but those dreams ain't ever gonna happen :')
> 
> anyway about the fic,,,, anyone into this chapter??? rushed??? bad??? bc of my overemotional state??? yay!!!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> return to club life :)  
> part 2 because i SUCK lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ifeel like im absolutely annoying with constant updates sorry i just pour all my effort into this fic bc i spend the day training and physio-ing it etc and i spend the nights tired and writing blehhh... the injury hasn't offered me much chance for going out a lot... sorry lol

_"Well, this is it." Sami's expression was unbearably sad as he looked down at Mesut, but there was a softness in his eyes. Mesut, who was lingering around the gate leading to the London departures, was seized by a sudden urge. He flung his arms around Sami's shoulders, almost knocking the man backwards, and held onto him tightly._

_"We'll call," he whispered a little urgently, tightening his grip, because he felt like something was slipping away from him. "We'll text. We'll visit. We'll do what we always do."_

_Sami grinned. "Of course. It's not like we're being cut off from each other."_

_But there was a strange sort of sadness in his eyes, as if he couldn't really convince himself of what he was saying._

_Mesut held him even more tightly._

_"I love you, man," he whispered after several moments of remaining still, before he finally let Sami go and stepped back from him. "Good luck, with, like, everything. Juventus. Life. Anything or... anyone."_

_Sami frowned, but Mesut had already turned away, picking up his suitcases, and heading towards Lukas, who stood alone in front of the departure gate._

_"See you," Mesut called back for the last time, urging himself not to turn around and look at his friend as he did so. But he did anyway. His gaze locked on Sami's for a fraction of a moment and suddenly all he wanted to do was drop his bags and stay, but Lukas's hand had gripped the crook of his elbow and then, just like that, Sami was out of sight._

Mesut was roused from his reflection by the sound of a soft sob beside him. He raised his head from where it had been pressed against the window and glanced to his right. Lukas had one elbow rested on the arm of his chair and was covering his face with his hand.

"Oh, Poldi," Mesut said, slinging an arm around his friend's shoulders. Lukas crying was a pretty rare sight and it always gave him a pang when he saw it. They were the same tears he had seen after the World Cup of 2014, after the journey was all over, and it had been time to return home. "It's not so long til you'll see each other again."

"It'd be easier to deal with," Lukas hiccoughed, leaning against Mesut's shoulder. "If we weren't so close."

Mesut understood what he was saying. The more dear somebody was to you, the more difficult it was to be apart from them. In the life of a professional footballer, things were always moving, and there was barely time to settle- new opportunities were cropping up every day. For two people as in love as Basti and Lukas, who were that far apart, it was a huge challenge to overcome. It was a mark of how strongly they loved each other that they had lasted this long. 

His thoughts inexplicably travelled to the man he had left behind at the airport.

"Take comfort in the fact that all of this?" Mesut gestured at Lukas's tearstained face. "Means that you love him so much. You two are inseparable, and that's why it's so hard for you to deal with. I bet my magic feet that Basti is probably just as miserable as you are right now."

"Is that meant to reassure me?" Lukas snorted a little, giving Mesut a disbelieving look. Mesut reflected on what he had just said and winced.

"I mean... Basti is probably taking comfort in the strength of your relationship and feeling a renewed vigour as he rushes forwards to greet daily life again?" Mesut stumbled out in one breath, without checking to see if what he had said made sense.

Lukas's judgemental look only grew stronger. " _Now_ I see why you can't be our captain, with motivational skills like that."

"I motivate you just by  _being_ here," Mesut declared, but he ruffled Lukas's head fondly, earning him yet another unimpressed stare. "C'mon, Poldi. Turn that frown upside down. Let's break that goal drought for your Basti when we get back, eh?"

The disparaging expression on Lukas's face was replaced by a tentative smile. "Alright, then, if you're offering. You can load me up with assists while you're at it, too, for your-"

He broke off, suddenly looking away, and Mesut stared at him. When Lukas saw his face, he laughed a little awkwardly and sat upright again. 

"For your own personal pride," he finished clumsily. "So damaged by our away games. Yeah. You'll need to build up that dignity again."

"Right," Mesut said slowly, returning his gaze back to the window. "My  _dignity._ "

For some reason, he wasn't feeling the same bemusement he always felt when the team suddenly started acting weird. In fact, he was almost  _certain_ that he knew just what name Lukas had barely refrained from saying.

***

 _"Mario,_ _Mario, m_ _y_ _Mario-"_

 _Warm hands pressed against his face, fingers brushing against his jaw, leaving burning trails against his skin._ _He was delirious. His head was spinning round and round but he was grinning, nothing in the world had ever felt so right-_

"SHIT!"

Mario Gomez flew awake from the doze he had just been about to settle into by a sudden scalding sensation in his lap. He leapt to his feet as the coffee that had been set before him spilled all over his trousers, and for a few seconds, he danced around like a madman in the moving train carriage, swearing at the top of his voice.

It was lucky he was in a private carriage, and that only Ron-Robert was sitting opposite him.

"Jesus!" Mario said, once the burning hotness seemed to subside and he was able to gingerly touch his sodden jeans, scowling as he saw the brown stain. "You could've stopped that from falling on me, you know!"

Ron-Robert seemed totally indifferent in the face of Mario's indignant glare, not looking up from his phone. "Not my fault you dozed off and didn't put the lid on."

" _Ugh._ " Mario picked at his clothes and snatched the packet of tissues Ron-Robert had produced from his bag to start mopping at himself. "Just my luck. I've probably got burnt flesh or something. I might not be able to play."

"That'd do you some good."

Mario's eyes would probably pop out of his sockets with how furiously he was staring at Ron-Robert, but the man continued to blithely ignore him, flicking through whatever inane app he was finding so interesting. He sat down in his seat again, after making sure that it wasn't wet, and had finished cleaning up the mess his coffee had made. He smiled awkwardly at the attendant and mouthed an apology as she gathered up the coffee-soaked tissues and hastily rushed off to get another one for him.

"What are you even doing?" Mario asked grouchily, when it became clear Ron-Robert wasn't going to look up from his phone. The man responded by showing him the group chat. Mario sighed. He should have known.

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Toni:** Jerome I fucking know it was you who kept my lucky laces

 **Toni:** You stupid bastard

 **Toni:** You'd better fucking fly over to Madrid and give them back to me

 **Jerome:** lucky laces???

 **Jerome:** first of all if you've got a possession like that you're just asking for them to be stolen and made fun of

 **Jerome:** second of all although i echo my point above and say i WOULD have stolen them if i had known they existed

 **Jerome:** i ain't touched anything

 **Toni:** YOU LITERALLY ARE SO ANNOYING

 **Toni:** I THOUGHT I'D FINISHED DEALING WITH YOUR MALEVOLENT PRESENCE NOW I'M ON A PLANE SAILING AWAY FROM YOU BUT NO

 **Jerome:** LOOK I HAVEN'T TAKEN ANYTHING

 **Jerome:** I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO REASON TO WANT YOUR 'LUCKY LACES'

 **Jerome:** (THEY'RE CLEARLY NOT LUCKY ANYWAY CONSIDERING YOUR RECENT RESULTS)

**Toni: ICH WERDE DEINE MUTTER ESSEN**

Mario shook his head as he leaned back from the phone screen as more messages appeared, accepting his new cup of coffee from the attendant and thanking her whilst also profusely apologising about the spilled one (she looked a little spooked as she assured him all was okay). "It's not even been a single hour since we all started heading back to our own places, and they've already devolved again. Jesus. This team is very single-minded."

"You say that like they evolved over the break," Ron-Robert sighed, sipping his tea and looking wistful for a moment. "I swear, I don't know what they did at the youth academies when  _that_ generation went through. You know, Thomas, Mats, Marco, Mario, Jerome, Mats, Toni... Wait, does Manu count? Wow, I forgot Manu's only a year younger than you."

"Oh, Manu definitely counts," Mario said with a grin. "There's certain divides in Germany's football generations, you know. Fips, Basti, Lukas, me, Roman, Michael, we're part of the older generation, though Michael is a little older than our generation, maybe. Manu downwards to the other Mario is the next generation. I know Marc-Andre is actually older, but I count him as part as the third generation. Or maybe I just count the other Mario as part of the second generation? Wait, that's the same thing. Oh, who knows? Time isn't fucking real."

"You forgot about Miro," Ron-Robert chuckled. "He's been around since 2002. If anything,  _he's_ the timeless deity."

"Ahahahahaha Miroslav yes of course." Mario rubbed his palms together and swallowed. "So, um, er, how are you feeling about our fixture against Leverkusen? What do you reckon Markus will go for?"

It was the perfect question for deflection, the best weapon a footballer had in their arsenal. As Ron-Robert instantly began pontificating upon every game Leverkusen had ever played and analysed all the potential penalty takers and goalscorers, Mario discreetly wiped his hands on his clothes.

***

Fips was sitting opposite Basti on the train, both of them having been left alone by the other Bayern players so Basti could have some space. He needed it. Although he had stopped crying constantly now, his eyes were still very red and every once in a while he'd bury his face in his hands again. Fips had run out of soothing things to say and had settled on gently patting his friend on the shoulder whenever he succumbed to tears again.

He felt sympathy, but by this point he knew there was not much he could say to ease things for Basti or Lukas. Fips had never quite felt the pain of being apart from the one he loved most for the majority of his everyday life. It was worse that Basti and Lukas weren't just schoolboy lovers, they had a serious, long-term relationship- their situation was _bound_ to cause a lot of strain. Fips quite understood his friend's pain.

On the other side of the train, Manu and Thomas were being unusually silent. Thomas's head was pressed against Manu's shoulder and he was fast asleep. Manu's eyes were vacantly focused on the rolling scenery outside the train window. Leon, Joshua and Serge had tried harassing them, but Manu's look had deterred them and they had gone off to be stupid alone at the end of the train.

Meanwhile, Jerome was trying to calm the storm that had started around Toni's lucky laces. 

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Jonas:** I just want to let you know Toni I don't have them I promise

 **Toni:** Ah no Jonas I know you wouldn't take them

 **Jonas:** Oh I'm not accusing you of accusing me it's just because of that whole razor situation

 **Jonas:** Haha

 **Toni:** Shit you're onto something

 **Toni:** Is it REUS?

 **Toni:** REUS!

 **Mats:** type a little louder so he can hear it over all the sex he's having with mario at this very moment

"It was  _me_ who stole them, you know."

Jerome looked up from the accusations flying on the group chat to see Mats giggling as he regarded his own phone from where he was curled up in his seat. "Did you really?"

"Yeah. I totally forgot about it, too. I was going to give them back but I only remembered it when, well,  I saw Toni accusing you of stealing them." Mats laughed, throwing his head to the heavens. "To be fair, it's like you said, who wouldn't steal  _lucky laces_ off a teammate? No wonder Real Madrid are losing shit."

"Ach, vielen danke,  _Mats_ ," Jerome said darkly. He held up his phone to snap a photo of Mats and sent it off to  _bayern won the bundesliga,_ informing Toni that Mats had just confessed to committing the crime  _he_ had been accused of. Benni, meanwhile, gave his boyfriend a supremely unimpressed look.

"You know, you complain about Marco every second of every minute of every hour of every day, but you're _just_  as bad as him," he sighed. "You just don't seem to see it."

Mats held his heart as if he had just sustained a mortal wound, his eyes blowing wide in horror, making him look uncannily like his mortal enemy. "Benni! You can't say that about your beloved! I'm nowhere near as bad as  _that!_ "

Irony seemed to sail over his head, just like Benni's cricket bat would if his boyfriend continued to push his luck. 

" _Fuck_ lucky laces, there are more important things to worry about!" Jerome said suddenly, with feeling, turning off his phone and now looking extremely giddy. "I can't believe we're almost in Munchen, where Rob is! I've literally never been more excited for something in my life."

"Jerome, there have literally been international breaks before," Benni intoned. "And you've said the exact same thing every time. Also, don't speak so loudly, damn it, think about poor Basti..."

Jerome covered his mouth with a guilty expression on his face but Basti had not heard anything. He had put headphones in and was now lying with his eyes closed against the window whilst Fips had started reading a book. 

"Believe me, Benni, he was actually worse before they started going out, funnily enough," Mats said thoughtfully, lifting his legs up to place on Benni's lap (and immediately getting them shoved off again).  "You know how shy Jeri is around new people. Robert was following him around because he was the  _new kid_ and Jeri fucking loved it, he just didn't want to say it. Every international break, complaining about how  _cute_ Robert was, and about how he wanted to be with  _him_ instead of with us..."

Jerome looked embarrassed by the story as Benni looked at him curiously, unable to believe that Jerome was actually shy, but then he puffed his chest out in the classic "Reus self-assurance deflection" move. "The feeling  _still stands._ "

"Trust me, loverboy," Mats sighed, going back on his phone. "We can't wait to mooch you off on Rob so we can get quality time to ourselves again..."

He winked outrageously at Benni and received nothing but a judgemental stare in return.

Given Benni's mood recently, it was the best he could hope for, he supposed.

***

"You know, baby," Mario Gotze panted, as Marco lay atop him wearing a grin on his face. "Maybe our first call to order when we came home should have been, I don't know, check nothing's been stolen, that everything's in order... you know?"

Marco rolled off of him, still flushed in the face but looking like he had won the Bundesliga. "I didn't hear you complaining, Mar. You know  _that_ was long overdue."

"It was, definitely," Mario conceded, staring up at the ceiling with a smile spreading across his face. "We didn't do  _much_ of that over the week, unless you count the time Mats barged in on us-"

"Total turn-off, seeing that ugly face-"

"But you orchestrated it," Mario said wryly. "It was your fault. But anyway, God, that was amazing. I feel like we should just spend, like, the rest of our lives doing that. You know?"

"Fuck yeah, I know," Marco snorted. "If I ever became the  _official_ king of everything-"

"So you admit you're not-"

" _Officially,_ Mar, I mean it as in, legislatively selected. Legislatively? Is that a word? Lawfully? Democratically? Don't answer. I was going to say, if I ever became the king of everything, the only things anyone would have to do is sex and winning games for Dortmund."

Mario laughed despite himself as Marco snuggled closer towards him in their bed so their noses were touching. "I reckon that'd make for a pretty stable society."

"Are you kidding me? A society that I'm in charge of would be full of peace and prosperity. Racism would be six foot under with spears stuck in it, everyone would have enough money, clean water and healthcare and Mats Hummels would be universally regarded a bit like Guy Fawkes is in England- they basically made a meme out of his biggest failure and celebrated it-"

"And what would happen with me?" Mario chuckled. "Would I be, like, the vice-President who actually makes that shit happen?"

Marco seemed to be genuinely thinking about this. "No... You wouldn't be a  _vice-_ President. You'd be a co-president. We'd have equal power over everything. So if I go a little overboard torturing Mats, you'd have the power to overrule me."

There was something so unexpectedly sweet about Marco offering to share potential power with someone that Mario had to kiss him.

"God," he said, once he had pulled away, leaving Marco looking a little dazed. "I'm so lucky you're with me right now. Like, we never have to be apart. We're so lucky."

Marco looked surprised.

"I mean, we're lucky we're not Basti and Lukas, or even Rob and Jeri, even though  _they're_ a bit overdramatic," Mario said pensively. "We play together nationally  _and_ domestically. And we're together. Doesn't get much better than that, huh?"

He waited for Marco to agree with him exuberantly, but the forward took a while to reply, gazing at a point above Mario's head. Mario watched him with a feeling of sudden worry inside of him, self-doubts about everything in his existence cropping up inside of him-

But then Marco leaned forwards and kissed him again, for a good several moments.

"Yeah," he agreed finally, breaking apart from Mario, with a smile. "Doesn't get better than that."

And then they returned to doing what the international break and the intrusive Mats Hummels had deprived them of.

***

The train finally drew into Munchen, and it seemed that Jerome would actually have to be restrained from hitting the emergency exit on the doors and hurrying away without any of his luggage. He was complaining impatiently at the top of his voice to anybody who would listen (specifically Leon, who was looking as though he was regretting lending an ear) and insisting that they all speed up or else he'd leave them. Fips was helping Basti heave some of his stuff off the train when Jerome dashed off out of sight, lugging along his two suitcases behind him.

"For God's sake," Fips sighed, as Leon raised his hands as if to say,  _not my fault for letting him out of sight._ "They should be outside. Honestly, that man... It's not like Robert's _going_ anywhere."

He glanced warily at Basti, hoping that Jerome and Robert would be a little sensitive in their reunion. Basti had his hands in his pockets and looked a little sad, but he was also smiling.

"It's cute," he said decisively. "We need a little more love in the world, Jeri and Rob can give us some."

"If you say so," Mats grumbled, having been forced to collect a piece of hand luggage Jerome had forgotten. "Let's go and watch them be obnoxious, huh?"

Thomas was yawning as he followed Mats, Manu carrying his rucksack next to him because he was feeling a little too tired to carry a lot of stuff. 

"Feeling alright, Thommy?" Manu asked with a smile. "You're looking pretty shattered."

"Honestly, Manu, I didn't realise how tired I was until we said goodbye to everyone and there was nobody left to expend energy on. That make sense?" Thomas sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I haven't gotten much sleep this break, I'm absolutely going to take a big nap when we get home..."

He was a little too sleepy to notice the way his words had effect on Manu, who suddenly looked furious- not at Thomas, but with himself.

They all descended from the train station and out into the open air of the street. They barely had time to adjust to the sudden downpour that was drenching them before Jerome let out a roar of delight.

"ROB!" he yelled, dropping everything he had and racing ahead like a player chasing a ball before it went out of play. 

Everyone exchanged looks as they saw Robert, looking stylish in a jacket with the hood pulled over a cap, glance up from his phone. The smile that spread across his face was so wide that it must have hurt his face, it looked like his cheeks were going to split open. He looked beside himself with delight, and soon he was running towards Jerome too. It was definitely like a scene from a trashy romantic comedy, but it was also oddly endearing to watch them collide into each other, melting into each other like they had been built to slot together. Basti suddenly had to turn away again.

"I missed you so fucking much," Robert said, sounding almost desperate as he clung to Jerome and they kissed each other heatedly. Jerome lost himself in the sensation of his boyfriend actually being in his grasp again. "You were so amazing this break, I was watching your games, I was so proud of you. I've wanted to kiss you for like seven days straight. God knows I have so much to talk to you about. I missed you, baby, I missed you..."

"Oh, baby... I missed you too," Jerome whispered, shaking Robert a little before hugging him tightly, wiping some of the rainwater that was falling off of Robert's nose before kissing it. "Jesus, thank God you're here again. Games just aren't the same without you and they never will be. I don't think I would've been able to manage one more day without you being here."

"I  _know_ I wouldn't have," Robert said firmly, finally pulling back and cupping Jerome's face in his hands, kissing his nose back, and beaming more than he did when he scored an important goal. "Oh, my baby, just  _seeing_ you in front of me is better than, like, I don't know, sex. Jesus."

"Are you  _quite_ sure about that?" Jerome asked, wiggling his eyebrows, though his cheeks heated up a little. He wasn't particularly  _incredible_ with face-to-face sexual flirting. "We'll see later today, eh?"

"You've got that  _damn right-_ " Robert began, grinning even more widely, looking so beautiful Jerome wanted to change 'later' to 'right this goddamn fucking moment'. But unfortunately, Fips and the Bayern gang were standing right behind them, all staring at them deliberately to make them feel uncomfortable. "What? What are you looking at? I've been away from  _this_ for a week, I'm perfectly entitled to-"

He broke off as he noticed Basti's back was turned, and he and Jerome exchanged a look. Basti must have just said goodbye to Poldi. Robert changed tack.

"But maybe I'll greet the rest of my teammates too,  _obviously_ I missed them," he intoned, going forwards to give them less enthusiastic hugs. Once he had finished he returned to Jerome's side and hugged him yet again.

"Baby, I just wanted to say," Jerome murmured in his ear. "About- well- what happened this break. I'm so sorry- we can-"

"No, no, no, baby," Robert said firmly, flapping his hands about. "We don't need to talk about  _me_ right now, not when I've got you back and you're so sexy and amazing and just so  _non-_ depressing Poland talk. We can do all of that stuff later, eh?"

Jerome gave Robert a suspicious look. "You know that our pillow talk will be less pillow talk and more of an excessive heart-to-heart- you'll spill your heart out to me, right?"

"Of course," Robert assured him, giving Mats a grin as the man tossed Jerome his forgotten carry-on. "I'll make the pancakes with the chocolate rocks and we'll talk all night if you want. Just not now. I just want to enjoy this moment with you right now."

"That we will do." Jerome squeezed Robert's hand, and grinned at him. And as he went to help Jerome with his luggage, the two of them shared a look that said only one thing and one thing only, in both a good and a bad context-  _later._

***

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Leroy:** just to inform yall

 **Leroy:** i'm going to enjoy the sanctuary of a place where nobody roasts me over the next month

 **Marco:** you're not planning on continuing to use this group chat?

 **Sami:** Thank God

 **Leroy:** this was not how it was meant to be

 **Jonas:** Is everyone back home and happy, now? :)

 **Leroy:** no

 **Jonas:** Ah, but was I asking you?

 **Leroy:** EVEN JONAS?!?!?

 **Mario Got:** screaming

 **Mario Got:** im not even sure if it was a roast but it had the energy of one

 **Marco:** that's how you know you're a meme

 **Jonas:** Ok I feel really bad

 **Jonas:** I'm sorry Leroy I was asking you!

 **Jonas:** I just thought I'd try my hand at being mean and I don't like it

 **Jonas:** Don't be mad!!!

 **Mesut:** don't be a pussy jonas

 **Mesut:** make the roast and stick with it

 **Sami:** And don't feel bad it's Leroy

 **Sami:** It's natural to feel the urge to insult him

 **Leroy:** jonas i fully accept ur apology

 **Leroy:** i understand te influence that this group of heathens might have on a pure and innocent soul

 **Leon:** guys jerome and lewy are literally revolting

 **Leon:** they haven't let go of each other's hands for the past like half an hour

 **Mats:** i don't understand them

 **Mats:** it makes no sense to  me how two adult men can do their jobs away from each other for one week and devolve into lumps of goo

 **Mats:** ah idk

 **Marco:** i feel for jerome

 **Marco:** instead of spending his week with the man he loves he has to spend it with you

 **Mats:** so this is just how its gonna be?

 **Mats:** you can't annoy me in person so you do it over the group chat?

 **Marco:** this is how it  will always be

 **Toni:** Ahhh feels good to be in a place without any of you

 **Toni:** I can feel my spirit rising from the depths of despair it had sunken into

 **Mesut:** get ready for it to take a nosedive again ur facing plzen soon

 **Mesut:** bound to be a challenging first fixture back

 **Toni:** Hey Mesut!

 **Mesut:** yes

 **Toni:** Retire.

 **Marc-Andre:** Um clasico is soon you should follow your own advice

 **Toni:** Hey Marc-Andre!

 **Marc-Andre:** Yes

 **Toni:** Concede an own goal.

 **Marco:** speaking of derbies people whose names begin with "marc-" will definitely win

 **Marco:** BORUSSIA DORTMUND VERSUS BAYERN MUNCHEN ON MY BALLS

 **Marco:**  how many of you will tune in to watch bayerns title defence crumble

 **Mario Gom:** I would but my game is like right before that

 **Mario Gom:** How many of you will be tuning in to watch that?

 **Joshua:** i think i actually heard crickets whistle

 **Mario Gom:** Nice :)

 **Miro:** I will watch Mariop

 **Sami:** Eh maybe I'll watch my past team?

 **Sami:** Oh wait ur facing Leverkusen

 **Sami:** Lol nah ur alone

 **Julian B:** hey sami!

 **Sami:** Yes

 **Julian B:** get relegated.

 **Miro:** I guess I am youoe

 **Miro:** Your* only fan Mario 

 **Mario Gom:** Hahahaha nice :)))))))))))))))))))))))))

 **Benni:** Who will be watching schalke face off vs dusseldorf

 **Joshua:** oh now i GENUINELY heard crickets whistle

 **Benni:** Are Schalke not viewed to be a respectable team anymore?

 **Mats:** benni, honey

 **Benni:** Yes?

 **Mats:** oh nothing

 **Mats:** it was just an expression of disbelief 

 **Mats:** like saying "oh, benni, honey, you really think THAT?"

 **Mats:** hard to convey over text i guess

 **Benni:** Hey Mats!

 **Mats:** yes

 **Benni:** Go and score a header.

**Marco:**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we learn about guy fawkes in school but i acc remember none of it am i right ??
> 
> is the way i segue into new plotlines unrealistic??? idk??? im just tryna live my life here and i feel self conscious about everything :((( was this chapter even ok? was jerome/lewy's reunion bad??? probs??? ugh im kinda suck ffs
> 
> hope u guys enjoyed this chap anyway which was sort of meant to tie up loose ends!!!thanks for reading!!!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus jeder, here i am with yet another chapter because i can't restrain myself :PP hope everyone enjoyed their thanksgiving because i think i have a large american population in my comments, which i'm curious about because i didn't know so many americans liked die mannschaft!

  _Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Sami Khedira_

 **Sami:** Hey Mes

 **Sami:** I've finally arrived in Turin and I'm home now

 **Sami:** Stepped out of the airport and suddenly all the water in my body evaporated

 **Sami:** How is it September and this fucking hot 

 **Mesut:** heyyy i'm in london too got here a couple of hours back

 **Mesut:** went to poldi's house for a bit because the poor guy is still upset

 **Mesut:** he called basti tho and they seemed to brighen up :)

 **Sami:** Aw I feel for the guy

 **Sami:** Speaking of calls wanna video chat now?

 **Sami:** I already miss seeing your ugly face

 **Mesut:** ugh ur so obsessed w the sight of me aren't u

_Incoming call from Mesut Ozil._

For a moment Sami was greeted with the sight of Mesut's forehead, and then the man moved his camera back to reveal his face. Sami felt an inexplicable leap inside of him and he leaned backwards on his bed, grinning easily, but pretending to shield his eyes.

"Ugh. Turn the camera around, will you, my poor eyes can't take the strain."

"Because I'm like the sun, shining so brightly it blinds you." Mesut pressed his face right up against his screen, crossing his eyes. "Bringing light to your life, eh?"

"Bringing plight, more like. Get out of my sight." Sami shifted so he was lying on his side, pulling his eyelid down to distort his face. Mesut stuck his tongue out surprisingly far. Video chats tended to bring out the child in them. "So, Zimtzicke, you feeling good about being back in England?"

Mesut pouted in thought. Though being back in his own bed and not having to navigate the warzone that was Sami's floorspace was pleasant enough, there was something about the emptiness of his house that almost made him feel like a ghost, drifting around aimlessly looking for something to do. This feeling was always present when he returned from the international break, and it was just a matter of easing back into club life to make it go away, and ridding himself of habits he got into when he was around his Germany teammates, such as triple checking before he entered a room to make sure Marco wasn't hiding behind the door ready to ambush him.

"We'll have to see," he said finally, shrugging. "Our first fixture back doesn't fill me with confidence and excited anticipation, let me just say that."

" _Chelsea,_ " Sami laughed. "Jesus Christ, that's the last thing you guys need. It tends to be the home  _wins_ that boost confidence."

"So I'll be feeling like Marco by the end of the week, huh?" Mesut said dangerously. Sami's lips stretched into a slow smile.

"Hmm... doubtful. I'd say you'll be feeling more like Jonas- if he was facing Jogi's wrath," he said, after a moment of trying to think of something clever to say (the slow smile had been intended to give him time). However, there was no doubt in his mind that Mesut did not enjoy the sentiment of this comment- he was scowling deeply. Sami could not help but smirk.

"I can't even hit you, because you're so far away," he said bitterly. "So you can keep on making these annoying comments as much as you want. The world wants to punish me."

"Oh, the punishment isn't _me_ being far away," Sami said in a tone that was gently reassuring. His words were not. "The real punishment will be when your  _back line_ is so far away from the action they don't see the ball going into the net."

"Can you just retire?" Mesut enquired, as if he was asking Sami to pass cornflakes down the breakfast table. "Seriously, this is the warm exchange we're having after that week together. Back to Arsenal jokes instead of telling me how much you  _miss_ me."

Sami snorted. "I don't need to tell you it, you already know it."

Surprise flashed in Mesut's eyes in the briefest fraction of a moment and then he smiled bashfully. "Yeah, I guess I do."

Sami had suddenly discovered that a corner of his bed cover was out of place and he dived to sort out the situation before it became out of hand. Mesut, in the meanwhile, was aware that his carpet had shifted a little too much to the right and he too decided that this dire problem required attention instantly. The two of them spent several moments hiding their huge smiles whilst dithering around with their minor crises before they finally returned to each other's camera, blushing.

"You know how bed covers can be," Sami mumbled, after a few moments of floundering around to say something. "You move a little and then it's like, boom, half your bed is hanging off-"

"Mmmhm yeah absolutely I completely I agree it's the same with carpets too it's a big problem," Mesut said in one breath. "Uhm-"

"Bernd!" Sami said loudly, so suddenly that Mesut actually clutched his heart. "Leno! Former Leverkusen player and now Arsenal secondary goalkeeper though he'll probably get into the starting lineup for good even if Cech recovers! How- how is he?"

For some reason, every detail about Bernd's life had popped into Mesut's head and he hurried to fill Sami in. "Oh, good question, I was hoping you'd ask me about him! Well, I sent a message off to him when I got back to London, just telling him we'd gotten back. And guess what the first thing he said was?"

"What?"

"No, wait, let me screenshot it and send it off to you. Give me a second," Mesut said, suddenly laughing at the memory. "You'll want to read this yourself."

Sami shrugged and for a moment he disappeared from sight as Mesut went to his chats. Mesut could hear him whistling in the background.

_Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Bernd Leno_

**Mesut:** your purpose for living has returned

 **Mesut:** got back with poldi about 20 mins ago

 **Mesut:** so struggle on, bernd, you'll see us at training <3

 **Bernd:** ur presence relieves me but the knowledge that marc-andre ter stegen is out there existing drags me down again

 **Mesut:** damn will we ever have a conversation that doesn't involve him

 **Bernd:** we fucking have

 **Bernd:** i just thought i'd emphasise the fact that he sucks

 **Mesut:** ur dick

 **Bernd:** excuse me

 **Mesut:** u said he sucks and i said 'ur dick'

 **Mesut:** put 2 and 2 together

 **Bernd:** ok first of all ur not funny

 **Bernd:** second of all i'm not even talking to him so uuhhhh

 **Mesut:** oh yeah about that

 **Mesut:** why ARE you ghosting him

 **Bernd:** because who would want to talk to him???

 **Bernd:** that's the only reason

 **Bernd:** and no other

**Mesut:**

Mesut giggled a little as he screenshotted the conversation and sent it off to Sami. He returned to the camera just as Sami disappeared, presumably to read what he had just been sent.

There was a bark of laughter and Sami reappeared. He was shaking his head in disbelief.

" _Jesus,_ " he said a little wondrously. "I reckon you could be talking about how your grandma is having heart surgery and Bernd would still find a way to mention something about Marc-Andre. ' _Speaking of hearts, do you know who has a trashcan for one? Marc-Andre ter Stegen. The guy I hate so much that I can't resist bringing him into every aspect of my life._ '"

" _One_ of the good things about being back is that I can wear Bernd down until he finally tells me what the hell is going on with them," Mesut sighed. "You know those people who know  _exactly_ what people are getting at, but refuse to accept it even at gunpoint? Bernd's like that. I think he  _knows_ he actually likes Marc-Andre, he'd just rather die than ever admit it. I'm not actually sure if Marc-Andre does, though. He's just a bit of an Armleuchter."

"See, it's Lukas and Basti all over again," Sami said wisely- he was well-versed in observing the behaviour of the love-struck. " _O_ _h, we're not together, we were just caught with our lips centimetres apart because Lukas fell down those steps and I just happened to be standing right here..._ "

"Imagine being as oblivious as that?" Mesut shuddered a little at the thought- he, of course, would be instantly aware if he was that deeply in love with somebody. Who wouldn't be? "We should thank our lucky stars we got brains and not whatever weird gay juice everyone on the team consumes on the daily."

"Genau," Sami sighed. "Our team. Truly on another plane of shambles."

Mesut nodded sagely, and the two fell back into casual conversation, Sami's bedcover slipping off again, but going entirely unnoticed this time.

***

The long to-do list Robert had formulated for what he would do with his boyfriend upon his return went out of the window the second they stepped into the house. As the door slammed shut behind them, finally leaving them completely alone together, the only thing he  _wanted_ to do was grab onto Jerome Boateng and never let go. And he made good progress on this initiative, until they eventually had to separate so Jerome could catch his breath, and also so he could remove his glasses so they didn't get too squashed.

A tangle of clothes and an hour later, the two of them were lying in bed, Robert's blue eyes locked firmly with Jerome's brown. Their words of mingled exhilaration and nonsense had run out and now all they could do was stare each other. Until Robert began to regain his senses and started to think again, thus heralding the return of his  _memories._

"I know I said we wouldn't be talking about  _me_ this evening," he said a little dazedly, as he lay pressed against Jerome's well-muscled body. His boyfriend was like a fucking furnace, so pleasantly warm. "But I seriously think I'm about to start crying."

"Do it," Jerome murmured, his fingers tangled in Robert's. His thumb had started brushing against the back of Robert's hand in the soothing way it did when Robert was feeling overwhelmed, and Robert hated that he was doing it right at that moment. It made him want to dissolve into sobs because Jerome was too _good_ for him. "I'm right here to listen to it all."

Robert shook his head, pressing his forehead against Jerome's and closing his eyes. "It's the last thing I want to do. We should be celebrating the fact we're back-"

"We just have." Jerome's voice was amused as his hand slipped from Robert's and his arms slid around his waist. "Now we can do all that  _talking..._ "

"I don't want to talk." Robert sounded like a petulant child, but he couldn't help himself.

"And I don't want to hear you whine, but we don't always get what we want." Jerome shifted a little so Robert rolled off of him, and then they were face to face. Robert scowled at his boyfriend but Jerome was so achingly beautiful the expression didn't remain on his face for long. "Come on, Rob. I'm here to hear it all, now. You know that I won't stop bugging you until I know for sure that you're okay."

"I'm well aware," Robert sighed, putting his head against Jerome's chest and hoping he could hide the tide of emotions that were slowly eroding his sense of reason. "Are you sure we can't wait til tomorrow? You must be tired after a day of travelling and such a _successful_ week-"

"Robert Lewandowski."

Groaning, Robert buried his face more resolutely into Jerome's chest. He could feel Jerome's hands stroking his head. It was so comforting it inexplicably made him feel even more emotional.

"You're so annoying," he said finally, resurfacing, meeting Jerome's gentle smile with a teary glare of his own. He continued to glare as Jerome thumbed away some of the tears and more spilled over. "What'd you want me to say, Jeri? Do you want me to say I'm sad that Poland did shit and that I got humiliated? That I've been out to an Edeka like once to get some Kefir and mostly otherwise watching _Gute Zeiten, schlechte Zeiten_?"

"That's exactly what I want you to say," Jerome said patiently. "Don't just bottle it up, baby. You've been dealing with it alone this week and if you'll permit me to say, I don't really think you've been handling it that well."

Robert scoffed. "I'll have you know I've been coping with it with dignity and sophistication. Yesterday I made a sandwich and I  _didn't_ contemplate the game and get so angry I threw it in the bin. I ate that sandwich, bite by bite. I didn't even feel guilty about the fact it was white bread.  _And_ I ignored Twitter. You try and handle things better than that-"

"I'm proud you've made that progress, honey." Jerome continued to brush away the silent tears. Robert wasn't able to stop them. "But you know that you've been thinking about it too hard. And I understand it, but I also don't. We've lost games before, and you haven't been this upset about it. What's the deal, baby?"

Sniffling, Robert had to duck his head again as Jerome started rubbing his back.  _He_ wasn't even sure why he was being so fucking overemotional.

"I guess... it's just because..." his voice broke a little. "Oh, I don't fucking know, Jeri. I'm just not used to shit like this. Yeah, I've lost, but I've never lost feeling so utterly incompetent. Usually I've lost after putting up a good fight, so I have hope for the next time. This time I felt like someone was clubbing me over the head while my hands were tied behind my back. I was just fucking flailing like a fish. It was so humiliating. And that  _red!_ Six-nil and a  _red,_ for the  _captain!_ And I missed a penalty! God, what the hell was that game even  _about?_ "

He sobbed as Jerome murmured words into his ear. This was not at all how he had been planning their first night back, but Jerome was too damned insistent- and too damned caring. Robert felt as though he was being entirely selfish and he tried to brush his tears away.

"But it doesn't even matter. You guys were fucking amazing. Those two three-nil wins, how about that?" he said quickly, but he knew from the expression on Jerome's face that deflecting wouldn't work. It rarely did. " _Ugh._ _Fine._ If you really want me to, I'll be useless and annoying and cry some more. Just know I was planning on us having  _fun._ "

"Baby, I'm literally drowning in the amount of shit you're talking. You're talking about as much shit as Toni does, and that? That is saying something remarkable," Jerome said gently. "What you need to do is work through these feelings, so you can feel a little less overwhelmed. Why don't we eat a shit-ton of pancakes and cry over those? It might be more satisfying."

Robert contemplated this. "Will you make omelettes too?"

"I'll make omelettes too. And I'll even drink a glass of Kefir."

This claim was so extreme that Robert couldn't be sure Jerome was telling the truth. "You  _will?_ Jeri, I'm going to cry even more."

"Sure. If it would really cheer you up to see me projectile-vomiting that shit back out. It's  _so_  disgusting." 

"Your personality is disgusting," Robert informed his boyfriend, but he was laughing the hardest he had laughed for the first time in days. "Okay, you have a done deal. I'll cry over some pancakes as long as you promise me that I'm not just talking about myself for the whole night."

Jerome held out his pinky and Robert seized it with his own, and then suddenly grabbed Robert's hand and yanked him upright. Giggling in surprise, Robert let himself get swept out of bed by Jerome, almost knocking him over as he fell off it and onto the floor. Jerome hooked his fingers through Robert's and gave him a smile that embodied the sun. The tears that Robert had been trying to suppress all this time came harder, but this time, they were more relieved tears-  _finally_ he'd be able to get this weight off of his chest. And who would be able to cheer him up better than the love of his life?

***

Returning to Rome after the international break was a slightly surreal experience, because now he was being expected to act like a mature role model again. The second he had stepped into his house, he had been attacked by two small, excitable boys, whose mother, who had taken them to Miro's after he had texted her to inform her of his arrival, looked quite like Jogi did after a long and difficult training session when she greeted him.

"They're all yours, Miroslav," she said firmly, giving him a quick hug and shrugging as he gave her a look, knowing instantly that Luan and Noah had probably been injected with sugar with how hyperactive they were acting, tugging on his legs and yelling at the top of their voices, also poking his luggage as if it was a rare and strange phenomenon. "I'm going to go home and take a nap for about several years, I'll be back to pick them up later, okay?"

"Sylwia-"

"You'll survive," she said fondly, poking his cheek and hurrying out of the front door after kissing the boys on the foreheads and telling them she'd be back later. Miro watched her go with trepidation in his heart- love, of course, but also trepidation, because he was exhausted and Luan and Noah most certainly weren't.

He braced himself, putting on his best 'kids-I'm-shattered-please-let's-have-a-nice-calm-evening' voice. "Hello, boys, I've missed you. What have you been up to?"

"Loads of stuff!" Luan informed his father excitedly. "We were watching the games and then we played too and I stopped the ball  _just_ like Uncle Manu did!"

Noah looked a little sulky. "But I got it past him _way_ more times than he stopped it."

"No you did not! I stopped every single one!"

"No _you_ didn't! You're rubbish! I'm a great striker just like Vati and I scored _loads_ -"

"You scored loads of  _nothing-_ "

 _Oh, my Lord,_ Miro thought to himself.  _I thought I had left Marco and Mats back in Germany._

"Now, now, boys, no fighting," he said diplomatically, bending down to scoop both of the kids up, giving Luan an unimpressed look as he tried to smack his brother. "You're both great little footballers. Being a goalkeeper and being a striker is different so you can't really compare them- you two are both great at what you do! And I know because I'm a  _big_ footballer, and I know all about how it works, before you ask, Noah."

He hoped he sounded certain enough. Fortunately, Luan and Noah seemed to take every word their father said as fact and came to a tentative agreement. Less than thirty seconds after their dispute had started, it was completely forgotten as the boys began to load their father with questions.

"When can we come and see a game? Did Uncle Thomas score lots of goals in training? Did Uncle Marco nutmeg Uncle Mats like he said he would? Did you bring us any sweets?"

"You can see a game when it's your school holidays, and Uncle Thomas did score a lot goals. And has Uncle Marco been telling you about his... rivalry with Uncle Mats again?" Miro asked, not wanting Luan and Noah to get involved  with _that_ nonsense and start repeating some of the less child-friendly stuff Marco and Mats said to one another. 

"What's rivalry mean?" Noah demanded.

"It means they  _hate_ each other, idiot," Luan said disdainfully, proud that  _he_ knew what such a big word meant.

"Now, now, Luan!" Miro reprimanded him. "Don't call your brother an idiot. And don't _hit_ your brother, Noah. You should never hit someone, how many times do I have to say it? And Uncle Mats and Uncle Marco don't  _hate_ each other, they just like having fun with each other, they make a lot of silly jokes-"

"But Uncle Marco called Uncle Mats a bad word, it was-" Noah began, and Miro, sensing danger, hastily said:

"Sweets! I did bring you some sweets from when I was in Stuttgart with your uncle Mario!" He breathed a sigh of relief as Noah was distracted from  _what_ bad word he had heard from Marco (he was going to have  _words_ with that man). "Why don't you two run into the living room while Vati puts his bags away and we can have some sweets, eh?"

The two of them nodded eagerly and jumped from his grip before he could lower them down, racing each other down the hallway. Miro stood upright, sighing. He wasn't sure  _how_ he was going to deal with those two as they grew up. He was already getting too old for this.

He stuck his hand into his pocket to pull out his phone, just to check and see if he had received any messages before he got ready to start running around with his kids. Perhaps he could send an SOS message. His finger groped around at the sides looking for the button that turned the damn thing on, and then he remembered what Mario had showed him about the thumb being able to unlock the phone.

There were several messages already. Miro sighed as he looked down the list, spotting Thomas, Marco and Lukas's names among them. He was quite bad at replying to multiple messages. He was about to press on Thomas's notification when another one flashed on his screen, this one from Mario Gomez. Miro pressed on it immediately.

_Private chat between Miroslav Klose and Mario Gomez_

**Mario Gom:** Hey hey Miro

 **Mario Gom:** You're in Rome now right?

 **Mario Gom:** You can call me if you like, I'm doing absolutely nothing at the moment

 **Mario Gom:** If you want to

Miro smiled. He always liked talking to Mario, and his kids did too.

 **Miro:** I am wih

 **Miro:** With my children

 **Miro:** Do you want ot speak wtih them too

He cursed himself as his fingers pressed the wrong keys. There was a long pause before there was a response.

 **Mario Gom:** Sure!!

 **Mario Gom:** Love talking to Luan and Noah!!!

 **Mario Gom:** Your kids!!!

 **Miro:** Ok I will call soon

 **Mario Gom:** Cool!!!

 **Mario Gom:** See you in a bit then!!!

Miro wondered if multiple exclamation marks were some sort of texting code, because Mario tended to use an awful lot of them when Miro mentioned his kids. Perhaps he was just genuinely excited to talk to them. He shrugged, stowing his phone back away in his pocket, his other messages going unanswered for now, and turned his gaze back to his luggage, just as he heard a yell of rage from the living room and Noah yelled, " _Du bist ein Arschgeige, Luan!_ "

He sighed before changing his course, rushing to separate yet another fight.

He was  _really_ going to have to speak to Marco and Mats about what they were passing onto the boys.

***

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Marco:** somebody:  marco reus

 **Marco:** me:  **Perfection**  is a state, variously, of completeness, flawlessness, or supreme excellence.

 **Mats:** somebody: marco reus

 **Mats:** me:  **Disgust**  is an [emotional](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emotion) response of rejection or revulsion to something potentially contagious[[1]](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Disgust#cite_note-1) or something considered offensive, distasteful, or unpleasant. In  _[The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Expression_of_the_Emotions_in_Man_and_Animals)_ , [Charles Darwin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Darwin) wrote that disgust is a sensation that refers to something revolting.  

**Marco:**

**Marco:** oh gracious i'm so sorry

 **Marco:** that gif isn't applicable here

 **Fips:** Dear God.

 **Leroy:** screaming 

 **Mats:** start screaming when u become a consistent starter for germany

 **Leroy:** no i'll start screaming when u actually score the sitter with your head

 **Mesut:** is't possible? has leroy achieved a roast?

**Mats:**

**Mesut:** i thought it was too good to be true

 **Marco:** shut up you're still shit hummels

 **Mats:** you know what all of you are bastards

 **Mats:** how have i been putting up with header jokes and i had this gif on the internet this whole time

 **Julian D:** It proves that you've had way more bad headers than good ones

 **Marco:** of course that was just what i was going to say

 **Mats:** mm i sure you were

 **Mats:**  by the wayshut the hell up julian

 **Mats:** you've done nothing for the team

**Julian D:**

**Joshua:** mats don't you even try and say anything

 **Joshua:** he's our REAL captain

**Julian D:**

****

**Fips:** Don't get carried away.

 **Mario Got:** LORD IS THAT JONAS SGTIUHEIHEIGUR

 **Jonas:** AH JULIAN WHAT

 **Joshua:** don't come for him he's adorable

 **Marco:** i think these glasses look better tho

**Marco:**

****

**Jonas:** Where are you getting these pictures from?!?!

 **Joshua:** they're just stored on everyone's phone

 **Jonas:** Guysssss stop I can't look at myself

 **Jonas:** I'm dying can a person be uglier

 **Julian B:** jonas NO ur literally perfection idek what ur trying to say

**Julian B:**

****

**Jonas:** AH WHAT

 **Jonas:** WHO LET ME GO OUT LOOKING LIKE THAT

 **Joshua:** A VERY CLEVER PERSON 

 **Julian D:** I'd die for you Jonas

 **Jonas:** I MEAN THANK YOU THAT'S SO NICE BUT

 **Jonas:**???????????????????????

 **Marco:** why do i get really weird vibes from everyone's love of jonas

 **Mats:** because nobody likes you so it surprises you to see someone else being liked

 **Marco:** marc-andre could make a roast better than that

 **Fips:** Anyone could.

 **Mats:** ok you know what

 **Mats:** i'm fucking walking away

 **Mats:** bye 

 **Marco:** walk away like you walk away from the goalpost after you concede a goal

 **Fips:** Marco we beat you in the Champions League final so you have no leverage.

 **Fips:** You were the one walking away from the goalpost.

**Marco:**

**Marco:** goodnight!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nonsense group chat returns! i missed plotless bayern won the bundesliga! the last bit was absolutely an excuse to share cute pictures of jonas. have i mentioned before that i've actually met jonas and chatted with him in koln??? he's literally the sweetest human being in the existence he gave me a hug (he hugs amazing) and he's shy and adorable and he's just a dork in glasses and i L O V E H I M S O M U C H UGH. ive seen everyone else at matches and stuff but the only other ive actually talked to is mario gomez, but it was just a brief hello after a friendly :P still made living worth it tho :P
> 
> about this fic, naturally because it's a fanfic where everyone is gay and nothing is real miro and his wife are separated but in a chill way... but like, it's barely a plot point so it doesn't mtter lol idek if that scene with luan and noah was good and they're all their uncles it was pretty cute acc
> 
> just in case the german insults don't translate properly : Armleuchter is a way to call someone an idiot :P sorry if it's a bit annoying i just have to slip in my language here and there, it just feels right :P
> 
> anyhoo, hope you all enjoyed the chapter!!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess what i did the second i got home from the game thats right i turned to writing this fic to vent my fury because i'm fuckingngn furious :) i was gonna make this incredibly angsty but instead i decided let's have some goofy fun i was watching adverts with manu in them and they're so silly but endearing so i decided let's make a dumb filler segment where bayern film an advert as well as the other stuff

Fips contended that he had a serious job, but life seemed to be finding every opportunity to contradict that claim.  On a drizzly morning in München, instead of putting hard work into his football, he was standing beneath the canopy of the training ground and trying to resist the urge to murder his entire club.

“So this is what I’m picturing. You’re in the middle of a training session and you’re taking practice penalties. Herr Lewandowski, you’ll be trying to ‘score’ past Herr Neuer, but Herr Neuer will be either saving every shot, or you’ll be sending your shots off target.” Michael Wagner, the director behind this new idiotic endeavour Fips had invariably found himself involved in, was a man of immense enthusiasm and immense obliviousness. He was completely unaware of the entirety of Bayern München giggling right behind him as he unveiled his _genius_ idea to them. “After you miss the fifth shot, you’ll slump your shoulders and look dejected, turning away from the goal and stumping off.”

Robert, who had of course been selected to be the figurehead of this shiny advert for Coke Zero, looked a little surly after hearing this spiel.

“Perfect!” Wagner said, apparently under the impression that Robert was giving a display of his acting skills.

“This storyline hits a little too close to home after the international break, no?” Joshua muttered to Leon, who cringed, checking to make sure a certain protective boyfriend wasn’t in the vicinity. Fortunately, Jerome hadn’t heard him. He was too busy laughing with Mats on the side, ignoring the glares his boyfriend shot him out of the corner of his eye.

“At this point,” Wagner said indulgently, turning to Fips as if he was offering the man a lavish delight (Fips could say with confidence that was _not_ what he was being offered). “Herr Lahm will walk out onto the training ground and will approach Herr Lewandowski. He will ask, _was ist los, mein Freund?_ ”

Thomas was clinging onto Basti for dear life. The midfielder was patting him on the head, looking utterly at a loss for words to say.

Fips tried to smile, but it came out looking like a grimace. It was only when he noticed Wagner was staring at him expectantly that he said, “Oh, you want me to- er- demonstrate?”

Wagner nodded enthusiastically.

“Ah. OK. Er- _was ist los, mein Freund?_ ” Fips said, as Thomas howled with mirth, not even trying to conceal it anymore.

“Could you try and look… a little less angry?” Wagner suggested tentatively. “You’re full of captainly concern!”

He beamed at Fips, whose eyes had frozen mid-roll- he had been unable to contain himself. The diminutive captain quickly adjusted his expression, trying to imagine a scenario in which he would be concerned for a teammate rather than furious at their existence. It took him a while.

“ _Was ist los, mein Freund?_ ” he said finally, fixing an appropriately solemn look onto his face. His face immediately fell back into a scowl once he had finished his line, but Wagner wasn’t deterred, he looked utterly delighted.

“Das ist- mwah! Perfekt!” He kissed his fingers, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Now, Herr Lewandowski, you need to look a little downcast- brilliant, just like that- and then you’re going to say, ‘I’m not feeling on my game, today, Cap.’”

Robert swallowed and glanced out at Jerome, who was on the floor, holding onto one of Mats’s legs. He looked as though he wanted to club his boyfriend over the head. Fips shared the sentiment.

“I’m- I’m not feeling on my game, today, Cap,” he said, and that was the end for Jerome.

“Ja! Okay, um- where was I?” Wagner rotated on the spot, looking confused. “Ah! Yes! Herr Lahm, you need to sigh, and then you’ll say, ‘Yes, you’re looking a little under the weather.’”

Fips sighed perfectly, and then repeated the line. _Why_ was he part of this? Why couldn’t it be fucking Basti?

“Gut! And then, you’ll say, ‘maybe you need a little bit of rejuvenation. Why not drink this’?” He pulled out a Coke can from thin air.

Fips did what he said, but Wagner looked a little pensive.

“Hm… Maybe you could try pulling out the Coke a little more enthusiastically? You’re eager to help your teammate!”

“Look, we’re laughing now, but we won’t be laughing when this is all over,” Serge said to Arjen, who had tears running down his cheeks. “Look at his face. We’re all dead. This is the last team experience we’ll ever have together.”

“Good!” Thiago said from nearby, coughing because he was cackling so hard, leaning on Javi. “This is the perfect way to end it all!”

Fips had to practice his pulling motion about three times before Wagner declared it as ‘perfekt’. The only good thing about this situation was that he wasn’t alone in his crushing humiliation. Robert was looking as though he would rather face all future opponents of Poland alone rather than going through this torture. Fucking Manu, getting the easiest job out of the three of them. He  _enjoyed_ stuff like this, acting in silly adverts. Fips most certainly did  _not._

“Herr Lewandowski, now you have to look at the Coke can in surprise and say, ‘will this help’? Gut! And Herr Lahm, you’ll say, ‘trust your captain’. Give him a look that’s reassuring. Um, maybe a little less- yes! Just like that!

“Now, Herr Lewandowski, you’ll take the Coke can and you’ll open it in anticipation. You’ll take a long swig of the Coke. And when you put the Coke down, you’ll look unchanged for a moment. And Herr Lahm, _you_ say, ‘just wait for it’.

“And then comes the transformation! In the next shot, Herr Lewandowski will be transported into a full training session with the whole team! And he will dribble around every player, and score through Herr Neuer’s legs! After that the logo will come onto the screen, and the tagline will be, ‘refresh and rewind’.”

There was a sudden silence, as Wagner turned around to look at the whole team, his face alight with hope.

"You... want us to...  _all_ be part of the advert?" Thomas said finally, when it became apparent someone had to.

"Genau!" Wagner jumped up and down. "It'll be perfect! The amount of  _star_ power in the advert! Bayern are the most popular team in Germany, and one of the most popular teams in the world! It'll be sure to make sales soar, and Coke's rep will be boosted even more!"

More silence. Robert, who had been looking miserable the whole time, suddenly looked  _rejuvenated._ He turned slowly to give Jerome, who was still on the floor, but now looking horrified, a look that radiated smugness. It was the look he wore when people tried to roast him and he brought up a certain game against Wolfsburg.

" _Toll_ ," he said happily, as he regarded his thunderstruck and camera-shy boyfriend. "Let's refresh and rewind, hm? We got off to a bad start."

Wagner looked a little confused, but he nodded eagerly. Fips, in the meanwhile, felt as though something had finally gone right with his day.

Although, he thought to himself, as per usual, he still had the worst deal of the lot.

***

  _"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"_

_"Why? Why are you sorry?"_

_"I'm so sorry. For everything."_

_"You don't need to be... this is enough..."_

The vibration of his phone shouldn't have startled Mario so badly he dropped coffee all over himself for the second time in two days, but he wasn't at the top of his mental game recently. Saying as many swear words as he could think of (there were a lot), he grabbed a kitchen roll and started dabbing at himself while frantically groping for his phone at the same time. When he turned it on, he saw that it was an incoming call from Miro.

In the space of a few minutes, he had forgotten that Miro had offered to call him. Cringing, Mario tried to arrange his expression to be calm and friendly as he swiped right on his phone, even though he was imploding. 

"Miro!" he yelled a little too enthusiastically ( _contain yourself, Gomez,_ he thought furiously) as a black screen appeared, along with an explosion of yelling that could have only come from his kids. Mario frowned as he saw no sign of Miro or Luan and Noah. "Miro, you know your camera's the wrong way around, right? I can't see you."

"You can't see me?" Miro sounded confused. "But I'm waving."

"Vati, you have to turn the camera around!" an impatient high pitched voice sounded from the darkness, before Mario could say anything. "You're so  _old!_ "

"How do I do turn it around?" Mario grinned as he pictured Miro staring at his phone like it was a foreign object. There was an impatient noise from one of the boys, and then the sound of fumbling for a moment. And then, finally, Miro flickered into view, looking tentative.

"Can you see me?" he asked, waving again. Mario's grin grew wider, though his cheeks were growing hotter by the second. Luan and Noah were battling to be seen, both of them yelling at the tops of their voices. "Kids, kids, calm down!"

"I can see you," Mario laughed. "Crisis averted."

Miro smiled and his lips moved, but no sound came out. Luan and Noah also seemed to be yelling mutely. Mario blinked in confusion, and then he sighed very deeply.

"Miro," he said slowly. "You've muted yourself."

A bemused look. Then, Mario assumed Miro was saying,  _was?_

"You turned your sound off," Mario said patiently. "You need to click the little sound button."

This time, Luan and Noah looked extremely exasperated with their father, who was squinting at his screen. One of them leaned forwards so their face was pressing against the screen, and seemed to jab at a button. Almost instantly, there was a rush of sound again.

"-how do you not know how to use a phone, Vati, it's easy!"

"I'm an old man, my mind's not up to these new gadgets!" Miro laughed. "I think Noah fixed it. Can you hear us again, Mario?"

"A little too loudly, try not to burst my eardrums!" Mario chuckled. "I think you shouldn't touch anything on your phone for a while, Miro. Just keep your fingers _far_ away from the screen."

Miro just laughed awkwardly. "I'm sure these two will restrain me from causing any more damage, don't you worry."

Mario's gaze travelled from Miro's eyes to the two boys hanging off of him, still waving madly. For some reason, his heart had started pounding. 

"Hello, boys!" he said brightly, putting on a portrayal of total normalcy very convincingly. "It's been a while since I've seen you! How are you?"

"Great!" one of them said. It was bad, Mario couldn't tell which one was Luan and which was Noah by sight even after all these years. "We were watching you against France and you were  _great,_ Uncle Mario, your goal was so cool, I want to score one just like that one day!"

Ah, so it was Noah. Noah was the one who wanted to play as striker, and Luan was the one who wanted to play as goalkeeper.

The comment was enough to make Mario smile. "You will, Noah, believe me. One day you'll be just as successful as your dad and you'll be able to score  _better_ goals. Maybe even from outside the box, dare to dream?"

Noah looked confused but Miro rolled his eyes fondly. Luan, who looked annoyed throughout this exchange (possibly because he hadn't received any praise yet), leaned forwards to make his opinion known.

"But  _I'd_ be able to stop all his goals, because I'm a  _great_ goalkeeper, just like Uncle Manu, and great goalkeepers stop bad strikers!"

Miro made a frantic face at Mario that the boys couldn't see, an expression that said,  _help._ Noah had immediately turned on his brother for calling him a bad striker.

"Uhm-" Mario said quickly, as Miro tried to restrain them, scolding them. "You know what, Luan, you  _are_ a great goalkeeper. But you know, a goalkeeper  _can_ work with a striker, you don't have to be against each other! Just look at Manu and Miro, your Vati got a pass from him once that he turned into a goal! So you and Noah can play together and both be great!"

Contemplation crossed the boys' faces and they leaned away from each other. Miro looked relieved and mouthed,  _thanks,_ blowing Mario a jokey kiss.

Mario's throat was suddenly dry.

"Boys," Miro said, taking advantage of the moment of calm from his kids. "Me and your Uncle Mario have some boring, adult stuff to talk about. It'll send you off to sleep. Why don't you take the ball into the garden and start practising your great football skills?"

He received a non-verbal cue from Miro to show the boys just how boring their conversation was going to be. Mario summoned his acting skills and pretended to nod off, snoring loudly, making them giggle loudly.

"Okay, we'll go play!" Noah said brightly. "I'm going to  _score,_ Luan! Bye, Uncle Mario!"

"No you're not!" Luan insisted. "Bye, Uncle Mario! See you later!"

They waved at him hard and Mario waved back, chortling. They both climbed off their father after pecking him on each cheek before racing off. Miro watched them like a hawk, making sure they didn't shove each other on their way to the garden, giving Mario time to quickly expel the breath that he had been holding in.

Miro's attention returned to Mario. "I don't know what Sylwia fed them, but I have a feeling putting them to bed tonight will be more of a monumental challenge than it was facing Argentina."

"I hope you didn't give them the sweets you bought straight away," Mario laughed. Miro's guilty expression gave him away. "Miro! They'll be like firecrackers for hours! You've brought this problem onto yourself, mein Freund."

"It was the only way I could pacify them, they were at each other's throats the moment I got in through the door," Miro sighed, though he was chuckling. "Honestly, I think Marco and Mats have been having a rotten influence on them. They were asking me about the rivalry and telling me about all the  _bad stuff_ Marco said... I'll be having words with him."

"It's your fault for unleashing Marco and Mats together on a pair of kids," Mario admonished him. "You should've known they'd blacken Luan and Noah's innocent spirits. Can you imagine if they grow up to become footballers on different teams?"

Miro shuddered. "Oh, don't say that. It's just a silly sibling rivalry, though, isn't it?  _Sie sind ein Herz und eine Seele_ most of the time, but bring them onto football and  _sie liegen sich ständig in den Haaren._ "

"And their role models are Die Mannschaft. It's downhill from here. Good going, Miro, your kids will grow up to become reprobates, most likely," Mario joked. "Ah, I'm only joking. Luan and Noah will be fine, they've got you as their  _Vati._ "

The smile that spread across Miro's face was tender. Mario found that for some reason, he couldn't maintain eye contact. He had to let his gaze flicker away for a moment, staring at the overturned cup of coffee on his counter, which he had forgotten to clean up.

"Um," was all he could say after a while of what Miro evidently thought was comfortable silence (Mario could safely say it was  _not)._ "Your next fixture is against Milan, hm? Bound to be a tough one for you guys. How are you feeling?"

It was amazing, really, how wonderful having football as a career was if you wanted to change a subject. There was a huge variety of deflection techniques at your disposal. The classic was talking about the next fixture and saying it was going to be a difficult one (unless you were talking to Marco, who'd adamantly claim  _every_ fixture was easy). There was also inquiring about team lineups, and discussing rotations (which, if you were talking to Mats, involved a lot of bitching). You could talk about a teammate who had injuries, or a funny exchange in training, or complain about tactics.  You could discuss shocking results and upsets in the league or talk about predictions  _for_ the league (again, unless you were talking to Marco, who would declare emphatically that the winner would be Dortmund and nobody else).

Miro lapsed into talk about Milan's lineup while Mario hummed in agreement once in a while. He wasn't  _really_ paying attention to what the man was saying, he was too busy trying to discreetly handle the spilled coffee and occasionally wipe his brow. The nervousness he had been feeling before had depleted somewhat, fortunately, so he wasn't a gibbering wreck, just a contemplative wreck. Eventually, Miro stopped talking. Mario noticed it and glanced at his face on the screen.

"Are you alright, Mario?" he asked. "You're being very quiet. I hope I haven't  _actually_ bored you to sleep."

"No, no!" Mario said hastily. "I was just letting you talk, you know how it is when you're nervous about a fixture, you just want to vent it all out. You're never boring, Miro."

It was true. Miro was captivating when he spoke. He span himself along tales and topics, wove words like tapestries, and made connections between subjects that hardly seem related at first consideration. Mario loved the way that he could nudge and poke at facts and conjecture and opinion and make a new perspective suddenly burst into bloom like an exotic flower. People thought Miro was quiet and plain, but they couldn't possibly be more wrong. He could leave Mario spellbound on most days.

It just so happened that on this day, Mario was paying as much attention as David Luiz did on defensive duty. He was all over the place, struggling to catch his thoughts, which were in free-fall. 

"I'll stop venting about Milan's roster," Miro said lightly, though he looked slightly concerned for Mario, who had picked up a mental hammer and had started hitting himself with it. "You're sure you're alright, though?"

Mario swallowed. Miro was too observant for his liking. It was time to bring up his  _ultimate_ weapon. 

"I'm fine... it's just... I've been thinking. About, well, Stuttgart. I'm just feeling a little nervous about the Leverkusen game."

 _Perfect._ Miro now thought Mario was self-conscious about his  _club,_ insofar as Mario would be affected by bad results anymore. They were par for the course at the moment. But he wasn't going to tell Miro that.  The man's concern had increased tenfold and now he was going to start reassuring Mario about everything ever, and now the pressure would ease on him to appear completely normal.

 _Can't run forever, Gomez,_  a tiny voice, one that he had grown to dislike, whispered in the back of his mind.

 _What do you know?_  Mario thought back, shaking off an all too familiar feeling of dread.

***

Not for the first time over the past year, Jonas had found himself by the Rhine one evening, staring blankly out at the water. The training session for the day was over after everyone had been drilled about the upcoming fixture versus Furth. He had decided against heading straight home, taking a detour because he needed to think. In a time where training had been more intensive, he might have felt too tired to indulge his wandering mind, but he seemed to have a lot more leeway recently.

Nobody noticed him around, not least because he was wrapped up with a hat and his thick glasses on. The good thing about Köln was, although there were bound to be fans who were curious and wanted photographs, nobody harassed him. When he had first moved to the city from the tiny Saarland, he had been utterly overwhelmed by the sheer scale of everything around him, the thousands of people, the masses of tourists...  _everything._ But he had become accustomed to it over his years living here, and now this place was his second home. People were nice (nicer if they won) and it wasn't as loud here than in cities like Berlin or München. And he had this beautiful river to sit by whenever things got a little tough.

The fact of the matter was, he had been wrapped up in all sorts of doubts ever since the international break had ended and he had headed back home to resume play in the second tier of the Bundesliga. Although his German teammates had not said a single word relating to the relegation (and he had been surprised, he had expected, given the jokes about any of the flaws of any player, to receive a lot of mockery about it), he couldn't help but keep thinking about how his current situation might be impacting his position as a Germany international.

It wasn't as though he hadn't weighed the risks before he had gone for the decision to remain with Köln. He had been told quite frankly that playing in the 2.Bundesliga would mean that he would be reducing his chances of being called up. Playing at a lower level meant that it was more difficult to evaluate whether he'd be able to play with Germany's cream of the crop. But he had maintained, throughout everything, that he was going to stick with his heart and nothing else. His heart had been the reason he had stuck with Saarland until he was twenty in the backwoods of German football instead of moving up the ranks or attending a youth academy like everyone else. And it was the reason he was sticking with Köln now.

At the end of the day, what was more important to him? He had always thought of football a little differently from his colleagues, there definitely weren't many like him anymore. He had seen it as getting paid for his hobby, enjoying himself, not necessarily pouncing on ambition and having a desire to be the best. He enjoyed winning, but he also liked the boyish freedom of football. The passion and not the money or the glamour of being at the top. The release that came with kicking a ball around and that different world that came with a game, no matter how small. His friends still journeyed twenty miles to watch him play at home. He was truly a backwater boy at heart.

But he also felt childishly overjoyed whenever Jogi called to tell him he had earned his spot on the national team over the break. Being part of tournament squads was exhilarating. He had so many friends in the team. He was incredibly conflicted about the whole situation. What was he, really? Was he always going to be the shy Jonas who relieved himself on the ball and got enjoyment out of it no matter who he was playing against? Or was he going to have to accept the fact that times changed and so must he? Would he ever give up his sense of self? Were some sacrifices unavoidable- like him eventually moving to Köln in the first place?

He didn't know. He liked to think that not much would change, that Köln would make it back into the Bundesliga and things would continue on the reliable, beaten track he had followed since childhood. But Jonas was starting to think that this was a wake-up call. Maybe this was life's way of telling him to seize risks. He had never been the type to do so. He liked familiarity, he liked a calm life, he wasn't like the dynamic Die Mannschaft.

 _Focus on the now,_ he told himself, staring at the lights reflecting on the water.  _Stick with your instincts. They've served you well, Jonas. You've always liked reliability, you've always liked to be reliable.  Change is scary, but you can take things one step at a time. Whether it be sticking with Köln through relegation or handling the fact that Die Mannschaft might eventually drop you._

***

_Private chat between Marco Reus and Robert Lewandowski_

**Marco:** i'm not feeling on my game, cap.

 **Robert:** Oh seriously just fuck off out of my life.

 **Robert:** How do you even KNOW about the ad

 **Robert:** It isn't even out yet

 **Marco:** jerome fulfilled his duty as a friend and sent me the embarrassing videos of you

 **Robert:** I'm going to BREAK up with that man

 **Robert:** Why are you harassing ME about it Fips was in it too

 **Robert:** And Manu

 **Marco:** even i must throw caution to the wind on occasion and avoid taking the piss out of fips

 **Marco:** self-preservation

 **Marco:** and manu is immune to mockery about stupid ads

 **Marco:** have u even see those nutella ones he has no shame

 **Marco:** he doesn't even look that bad in it anyway

 **Marco:** you, on the other hand, do

 **Marco:** you always look bad

 **Robert:** Look

 **Robert:** I know you take vindictive pleasure in me looking like an idiot

 **Robert:** But I beg of you

 **Robert:** When the ad comes out, just... be merciful

 **Marco:** even jerome won't be merciful

 **Marco:** what makes you think i will

 **Robert:** I'm trying to appeal to a potential warm spot in your cold dead heart?

 **Marco:** only mario has the power to do that sorry hun

 **Robert:** Jerome's heart is going to be cold and dead when I'm done with him

 **Robert:** He's being SO ANNOYING

 **Robert:** There was a moment where I thought he'd been bamboozled because we were all meant to be part of the ad

 **Robert:** But he doesn't even look that stupid ffs

**Marco: surprising**

**Marco:** anyway lewandowski

 **Marco:** i came here to mock you but i also wanted to talk to u about something else

 **Robert:** Shit

 **Robert:** Is it about

 **Robert:** ******

 **Marco:** what

 **Robert:** P*land

**Robert:**

****

**Marco:** oh

 **Marco:** yeah it kind of is

 **Robert:** Marco is there any point in trying to plead with you

 **Robert:** I've been in a state of catatonic depression all week

 **Robert:** I don't need a roasting

 **Marco:** i'm not going to roast you ugly

 **Marco:** if i wanted to roast you i have a wealth of other material

 **Marco:** i j wanted to say what i didn't say on the day bc i didn't think you'd appreciate it

 **Marco:** but

 **Marco:** here i go

**Marco: this is going to be difficult**

**Robert:** I'm braced???

 **Marco:** ok i needed a moment to compose myself for this rough ride

 **Marco:** so

 **Marco:** about that game vs portugal

 **Marco:** i hope ur still not beating urself up about it

 **Marco:** bc you shouldn't be

 **Marco:** before u even talk just let me finish

 **Marco:** i just want to say it wasn't so bad ok

 **Marco:** i know the result wasn't the best and the red card wasn't the best

 **Marco:** and i know ur a winner and u like to win and u want good things for ur country

 **Marco:** but listen, bitch

 **Marco:** if anyone works harder than you, i'd like to meet them

 **Marco:** i know your ambition will keep you going and you won't lose hope about shit

 **Marco:** the lewandowski i knew was a stubborn fucking bastard and he still is

 **Marco:** so what you do is, you look at the poland memes

 **Marco:** and you do the classic reus technique:

 **Marco:** tear down all expectations and keep hitting that barrier til you break it

 **Marco:** and eventually you'll come out on the other side and poland'll be decent

 **Marco:** and you'll be feeling on your game and rejuvenated

 **Marco:** understood, idiot?

**Robert:**

****

**Marco:** don't start

 **Marco:** you're still ugly annoying and stupid and u suck

 **Marco:** all of that was on a pure footballing level

 **Robert:** Marco Reus

 **Robert:** I'm staring at my screen like

**Robert:**

****

**Robert:** I'm gonna cry

 **Marco:** i'll give you a real reason to cry if you become a sappy bastard

 **Marco:** just shut up

 **Robert:** I'm screenshotting this

 **Marco:** don't u even

 **Marco:** why do i even bother

 **Robert:** I'm joking

 **Robert:** But seriously

 **Robert:** Thank you, Marco :')

 **Marco:** whatever

 **Marco:** i still hope bayern get relegated

Robert laughed from where he was sprawled out on his sofa, shaking his head but feeling quite genuinely emotional at the same time. The last thing he had been expecting that evening was  _Marco_ texting him about  _this._ At the back of his mind he remembered Marco talking about the barrier analogy before, in a vulnerable moment. It was how he had described his own career, with all the injuries and Dortmund not initially wanting him. The thought of the eternally obstinate Marco being able to handle disappointment after disappointment made him feel... more positive. If he could do it, why couldn't Robert? The man was right, eventually he'd break through. 

Jerome, who was cooking and had occasionally poked his head into the living room to shout lines from the advert, looked surprised as he saw Robert smiling instead of glaring.

"What's up, Herr Lewandowski?" he asked, oven gloves still on.

"Bite me. And, it's just." Robert flapped his hands over his face, still hardly able to believe it. "It's Marco? He texted me and he was mocking me about the advert, fuck you by the way, Jeri, and then he talked to me about Poland? And it was actually...  _really nice?_ "

Jerome came up to his boyfriend as Robert handed him his phone. He scanned down the conversation, initially laughing as he saw Marco making fun of Robert about the advert, and then his face softened as he saw Marco's encouragement about Poland- and then he laughed again as Marco resorted to insulting, refusing to accept the fact he had been nice.

"That man," he sighed, handing Robert his phone back. "I've never,  _ever_ met someone as fucking headstrong as him. He'll never admit he cares. He could risk his life to save you and he'd find some way to say it was for his own benefit, not yours. But he does care. It's sweet. Do you feel a bit better about it all, now?"

"Honestly? I kind of do," Robert chuckled. "Unearned confidence really does work wonders. Marco handled disappointments and he's going strong. I'm not going to let him one-up me in that department. Robert Lewandowski is going to be the one who turns it all around."

Jerome beamed at him, but then he sighed as Robert couldn't restrain himself, he had to dive to touch the wooden floorboards because he couldn't risk anything being jinxed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chap was so bAD ugh i know im annoying saying it every chapter but i cant help it i just can't see my writing as good but i post it anyway because yall like it and it??? confuses me??? but makes me v happy??? i love you all?????? <333
> 
> i thought i'd make a jonas centric scene because i haven't put enough of him in for how much i fucking love that man, but it's kind of related to german football politics and a tiny bit angsty but i don't know if anyone would find it interesting??? sorry if it's not?? (obviously jonas is never going to get dropped in this fic ever). the problem with writing jonas-centric in club life is that he's pretty much alone, n o other die mannschaft members to bounce off of ygm?
> 
> sorry if i haven't been replying to comments as much!!! i'm reading them all and appreciating them, i promise!!!! i'll reply more soon i've just been a bit caught up by things!!!
> 
> sie sind ein herz und eine seele= they are bosom buddies  
> sie liegen sich ständig in den haaren= they are at loggerheads


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've reached another 5th chapter!! this one is dedicated to shlyrn4 (sorry if i spelled it wrong)! thank u for all ur sweet comments, i'm glad you seem to enjoy this silly fic so much!
> 
> speaking of silly fic, can u believe this is the 25th chapter, im telling u ive started many fanfics ive just never even gone past the 10th chap i have one fic that's got one chapter and i never went back to again isn't that crazy
> 
> this one is LOADED with the mesami and steno be prepared ;)

It was midday in London and it had started to rain. This was not particularly shocking to any of the Arsenal players currently in the middle of a training session, as bad weather in England was pretty par for the course, but Mesut could not help but feel that the arrival of drizzle had been universally aligned to coincide with his already damp spirits.

He had kept up a show of brightness, primarily because Lukas was. The striker's face fell into lines of misery whenever anyone looked away from him, but when he was with the team he tried his best to be cheerful, and that made Mesut feel guilty about feeling a little grey. So he had made the decision to just work through his temporary gloominess and focus on playing just like his friend was. A reasonable thing to do in any case- except one Olivier Giroud didn't seem to think so.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" the Frenchman demanded, in a quiet moment, as Bernd saved one of Mesut's practice shots and had crowed smugly about it, but Mesut had just shrugged in response (a most unusual occurrence). "You're looking sad, Mesut, what has happened?"

"Nothing," Mesut mumbled, smiling a little at him, aware of Lukas laughing with Nacho nearby. "I'm fine."

Olivier looked extremely dubious. 

"I do not think it is nothing," he said simply. "I think you are lying."

"Okay, Oli, if you say so," Mesut sighed. There was no way to persuade the man otherwise, he was well-versed with dealing with Olivier's impeccable instincts and knew how difficult it was to disabuse him from a notion once he had clung to it.

Olivier didn't have to time to press the subject, because they had been forced to start passing drills. But Mesut was extremely aware of the man's laser-like stare as he dribbled and zipped the ball to his teammates- it was impossible to avoid. Olivier was a man of great compassion but he had a complete lack of boundaries. He  _loved_ heart-to-hearts and refused to accept his teammates dealing with their problems alone. The only person he hadn't pressed his care onto was Lukas, because everyone knew Lukas could take care of himself. 

Mesut knew his time was running out, there was no way he could persuade Olivier he was genuinely fine now the man was analysing him so carefully, so all he had to do was wait until his friend pounced. That didn't mean he didn't try to stall things. During the lunch break, when he, Lukas, Bernd, Per, Nacho and Olivier were sitting together, Mesut had the perfect idea, one that he had learned from his many years with Die Mannschaft.  _Turn the heat onto somebody else._

"Leno!" he said, making the man choke with surprise on his salad (Lukas thumped his back, looking bemused at how someone could choke on salad). "I have a question for you."

Bernd blinked at him. "Um... ok. Ask me. Seriously, why does every German have to announce what they're going to do before they do it?"

"Side-effect of Marco," Per explained for Mesut, who nodded sagely. "He always has to make sure everyone's paying attention to what he's saying before he says it. So he lets everyone know he's asking a question so they can watch what happens next."

 _Damn it, Per! Did you have to explain my whole plan to distract Oli?_ Mesut thought in annoyance, avoiding meeting Olivier's narrowed eyes. 

"Okay, so you want to humiliate me," Bernd sighed. "Let's hear it. Honestly, I'm thick-skinned now, I can tolerate everything. Throw everything you've got at me."

"You know what he's going to ask," Lukas said slowly, as if he was explaining something simple to _someone_ simple.

"What?" Bernd looked genuinely puzzled. "No I don't."

The German players all exchanged looks. Olivier, who had heard all about the  _Steno_ situation from Mesut, rolled his eyes, as Bernd looked around at them with an increasing air of confusion. The only one who looked more clueless than him was Nacho, but Nacho tended to be a little oblivious anyway. 

"I'm  _talking_ about a certain goalkeeper who plays for Barcelona," Mesut explained carefully, a little insultingly so. The penny dropped and Bernd dropped his head into his salad. "Yes, I see that you know what I'm talking about now."

When Bernd emerged from his salad, he had olive oil on his nose, but the misery of Marc-Andre being brought up yet again (though, Mesut thought to himself, he had no qualms mentioning the man's name a million times himself) seemed to be a more pressing issue.

"What about him?" was all he said, apparently changing tack at the speed of light and now trying to act as though he was indifferent.

Lukas was starting to look a little annoyed. This was a warning sign that Bernd, having not known Lukas for particularly long, did not seem to notice.

"Are you still ignoring him?" Mesut didn't care that he was delving into old topics, he just needed to direct Olivier's attention elsewhere for a while. "You know, Leroy told me he was really angry at you. Well, angry at everyone, but mostly at you. You're driving the poor guy crazy."

Bernd's expression was slightly less telling than Marc-Andre's usually was when talking about something like this, but only slightly. Mesut could tell he was uncomfortable.

"Does it matter?" he muttered, squinting as Nacho dabbed the oil off of his nose for him, having been impatient at the sight of it. "He'll survive if I'm not fucking talking to him. I don't even know why he's angry, he has no reason to be. I haven't done anything to him."

"So you haven't been ducking his texts and calls?" Per asked diplomatically, with half a wary glance at Lukas, who definitely looked irritable now. "You haven't been acting like he doesn't exist and talking on the group chat while ghosting him at the same time?"

Bernd now looked surly.

"Does it matter?" he repeated. "I'm not obligated to talk to him. We're not friends."

Lukas scoffed loudly, Per and Mesut rolled their eyes at each other, Olivier groaned and Nacho looked confused.

"Wait. This Barcelona goalkeeper we are speaking of, he is Marc-Andre ter Stegen, no?" he asked.

"Yeah, he is," Mesut said exasperatedly.

"I am not following," Nacho said slowly. "I have always been thinking that you, Bernd, and Marc-Andre, are a couple? Am I wrong?"

Olivier gave a surprised laugh and Bernd looked horrified. Mesut and Per were grinning slyly at each other but Lukas still looked angry.

" _Couple?_ Nacho, mein Freund, you and I are not on the same page. You're on a whole other novel, a novel called  _shit that never happened and shit that never will happen._ Me and ter Stegen, a couple? It'd be a fucking stretch to call us acquaintances." Bernd was wearing an expression similar to the one Sami wore when he was refusing to accept Mesut's point in an argument. Mesut knew it well- it heralded the beginning of a difficult conversation.

"Oh, come on," Olivier said, looking disbelievingly at Bernd. "I think that is unfair. You were together on the youth teams, no? You speak a lot?"

"We were together as competitors," Bernd said flatly. He said nothing in response to the second point.

"You're being kind of a dick," Mesut said. "Marc-Andre thinks you're his friend. He doesn't take the arguments you have with each other seriously. He likes talking to you. He hasn't even done anything genuinely hurtful to you other than insulting you, but you're a grown man and you do it to him anyway. You're hurting his feelings by ignoring him, and for no reason."

Bernd looked genuinely pissed off. "He'll fucking survive. Everybody loves him and he'll go off to prove his worth in La Liga so everyone can start sucking his dick. He'll forget all about me."

In truth, Marc-Andre  _did_ seem to care, given that he had messaged Bernd a lot recently- though recently, he had sounded less like he wanted to start a conversation, more like he wanted to start a fight, recently.  _Look, just text me. If you've got a problem with me, will you fucking say it straight? You know what? You're a fucking child._

That had  _almost_ been the final straw for Bernd. He had been about to call Marc-Andre and start shouting at him but he had managed to resist the urge.

"You know what," Lukas burst out, rather more sharply than anyone expected, though Per winced a little. "Du bist  _unglaublich,_ Bernd. Do you know how childish you're sounding right now? You're abandoning a friendship because of jealousy?"

Bernd looked just as angry, his startled expression dissolving in an instant. "I told you already, I don't owe anything to ter Stegen! We're rivals and that's that. All of you keep trying to make it seem like we're secretly in love but it could not be more of the opposite. What do I have to say to a man who overshadows me as much as he can? To a man who'll probably limit my career? Nothing!"

"So what you're saying," Lukas said loudly, attracting attention from some teammates nearby. Lukas in a bad temper was a rare sight and it always caused wariness. "Is that you've never enjoyed his company. You've never deliberately sought him out for conversation. You've never shared laughter together. What you're saying is, you're hell-bent on trying to damage a potentially healthy working relationship which can push you forwards instead of being a struggle for dominance."

Bernd said nothing.

"Do you know how short life is as a footballer?" Lukas continued, now in his stride. "You have around fifteen years if you're seasoned, less if you're not. Do you know how often things change? An injury can knock you out of commission. You can be struck by illness. You could suffer from a lack of form, or you could watch a friend leave you in a transfer. You can lose relationships just like that. You can pretend you don't care, but how would you feel if something like that happened to Marc-Andre, and the only memories you had together were memories of hatred and jealousy? Wouldn't you regret seizing the opportunity to care for each other and make each other stronger instead of ripping each other apart? Don't you want to look back on these days and laugh? Spite will get you nowhere, Bernd! These opportunities come and go before you know it!"

When Lukas finished speaking, the silence was deafening. Bernd was staring down at his salad, with a leaf drooping on his fork, the tips of his ears bright red. Nacho was suddenly very interested in his sandwich, apparently under the impression that he was listening in on something a little too intimate. Olivier was watching Bernd with a calculating expression on his face. Per was looking at Lukas with his eyes soft, knowing his friend's mind was most certainly on a midfielder in München, and the turbulent effect football had on relationships. And Mesut... was miles away.

The only thing he could think of was the way Lukas's eyes had shifted to him as he had said,  _these opportunities come and go before you know it._

"I'm sorry," Lukas said after a while of relative silence. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

Bernd shook his head. "S'fine."

He said nothing more. The tentative quiet eventually was filled with sound as Alexander came to thump himself down on the bench beside them, loudly complaining because he had been berated for playing a practical joke on Pierre. Eventually, his goofy presence seemed to relieve the the tension in the air and all the Arsenal players started joking with each other again, though Bernd was extremely quiet.

Mesut's plan, whilst producing some unexpected (but maybe eye-opening) side-effects, worked rather wonderfully. Olivier seemed to have completely forgotten about what his plan to interrogate Mesut and he enjoyed a good few hours without having to act too cheery, which was good, because he had far too many thoughts racing through his mind.

Unfortunately, it seemed Mesut had underestimated his friend- and it was never,  _ever_ a good idea to underestimate Olivier Giroud.

"Alors," Olivier said casually, as they filed into the changing rooms at the end of the session. "What was wrong, before?"

Mesut paused mid-pull of his socks, and felt his insides momentarily squirm as he made eye contact with the Frenchman who never, ever gave up.

He tried for deflection. "What do you mean, what was wrong? Nothing was wrong."

Olivier simply stared at him, unmoved.

"Is there any point of-"

"No."

Mesut sighed. He looked at Olivier, and then at the sock in his hand, then back at Olivier. He cleared his throat. He slowly placed the sock in his bag, still looking at Olivier. He then looked down at his shoes, and picked them up as well. And then he looked at Olivier again. He scuffed his bare feet on the ground. 

Olivier hit him.

"Okay, okay, fine!" Mesut held up his arms to defend himself. "You're so  _annoying._ "

" _Merci beaucoup._ "

Mesut scowled. "It's something really stupid, you know. You'll laugh at me."

"Now, I'm not saying that is not a possibility," Olivier said carefully. "But I think you must have faith and say it anyway. I laugh at you for all things, you are used to it."

"True," Mesut sighed. He absent-mindedly started stretching his thumb back. "It's something small, really. It's about... well, it's about..."

"Mesut Ozil, if you do not-"

"It's Sami!" Mesut said hurriedly, a little too loudly. Bernd, who had been dressing by Lukas and Per (still very quiet), met his eyes for a moment. Mesut had to look away.

Olivier looked surprised. "Khedira? Is that so? What about him is troubling you?"

Shrugging, Mesut tried to look tough. "It's, well. It's just that I miss him, that's all. There. You found out what's been tearing me apart from the inside, you can reccommend me to a psychologist, now, for all the trauma I need working through-"

"Do not try and write it off," Olivier said impatiently. "It's clear it  _is_ bothering you a lot. And that is okay! You miss your close friend, what is embarrassing about admitting it? I miss my friends from the national team desperately sometimes- Antoine, Raphael..."

"Yeah," Mesut mumbled. "I know. That's why I shouldn't be so overdramatic, everyone's going through it, just look at Lukas and Basti. I should be a bit less... pathetic. I bet Sami's having a great time at Juve without me."

Olivier's eyes had softened. "I do not think so. And I do not think you should be hard on yourself for missing him. Yes, people have people they miss, and maybe they  _appear_ to deal with it, but inwardly they must be just as sad as you are. I do not believe Lukas is really as cheerful as he appears. But even if they  _do_ deal with it, what does it matter to you? You are not them, you are yourself, no? You can feel your own emotions without feeling guilty, mon ami. You are a human and it does not do to hide for the sake of others. Be a little selfish and indulge in some overemotion sometimes!"

Mesut couldn't help but smile. "Thanks, Oli."

" _C'est rien,"_ Olivier said, waving an airy hand. "You will have opportunities to see Sami throughout the season, don't worry, my friend. And to say he that he's having a great time without you, _c'est_ _ridicule._ Sami cares deeply about you, just as deeply as you care about him. The fact that you're always texting and calling and trying to spend any opportunity you have to be together, it shows that you l- that you care for each other strongly. Do not worry. Try not to be sad, but grateful that you have this bond that makes you miss him so much."

Mesut's smile grew even wider. "You're right, Oli. Yeah. Thank you."

"It was my pleasure." Olivier's lips quirked fondly, as he pulled his shirt over his head. Mesut was seized with an idea and he rummaged for his phone.

"Hey, Oli," he said brightly. "Wanna take a selfie? I'll put it on Instagram, haven't posted much in a couple of days."

Olivier looked surprised, but it was quickly replaced by a smile of cocky self-assurance (almost  _exactly_ like Marco's, it was like he embodied the concept) as he kissed each of his biceps. 

"But of course," he said slyly, and Mesut rolled his eyes, dragging him over to sit next to him. "Capture my beauty, my friend."

Muttering something about the unlikeliness of  _beauty_ and  _Olivier_ being mentioned in the same sentence, Mesut snapped a shot of the two of them together, both of them doing hand signs. Olivier then went off to continue getting changed, and Mesut casually went to Instagram.

As his fingers roamed around the keyboard, looking for a caption, he thought of Sami and smiled. He then put in,  _good training session today, positive spirits for the upcoming match. We're grateful for what we have!_

***

Marco and Mario were lounging around, doing absolutely nothing whilst watching TV, exhausted by a training session, when Marco checked his phone and spilled his juice all over Mario's lap.

"Marco!" Mario said furiously, leaping up and gazing down in horror at his red-stained white jeans. "Jesus Christ! What the hell did you do that for!"

Marco was too torn by laughter to respond. He was tearing up, shaking his head disbelievingly at his screen. Mario glared at him for as long as he could, determined not to have his resolve worn down by his boyfriend's mirth, but eventually had to give into curiosity. Cursing Marco, he hurried over to the phone to see what was so funny.

He saw what it was immediately. Marco had scrolled to Mesut's newest Instagram post, and what a post it was- or was bound to be. Mesut and Olivier, shirtless, posing for a selfie together. And the  _caption._ _We're grateful for what we have-_ how was that supposed to look? How many double meanings could  _that_ have?

"Okay, I'll concede, that's funny, but my  _jeans._ "

"Fuck your jeans!" Marco choked, immediately screenshotting the photo. "We have work to do, Mar!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mario asked warily. Marco showed him exactly what it meant by going to a certain group chat.

Mario, who was looking down at his phone as Marco started typing, was shaking with suppressed laughter. "Marco, you can't, oh my  _God._ "

"I can and I just have," Marco said brightly.

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Marco:**

**Marco:** you know, i have always been curious.

 **Marco:** what does giroud's tattoo say?

"Oh my God," Mario said in a hushed voice, shaking his head as Marco silently wheezed.

Marco's attention was diverted as he received a notification, but it was not from the group chat.

_Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Marco Reus_

**Jerome:** HOWLINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

 **Jerome:** YOU'VE JUST HELD OUT A RED FLAG REUS

 **Jerome:** THE BULL IS INCOMING

 **Marco:** I'LL MEET MY FATE WITH OPEN ARMS

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Toni:** Looks like LATIN

 **Toni:** From what I can see

 **Toni:** Not that I can read Latin

 **Toni:** You know, Giroud has pretty nice shoulders

 **Thomas:** i absolutely see that

 **Thomas:** even his shoulders are attractive

_Private chat between Philipp Lahm and Marco Reus_

**Fips:** Reus.

 **Marco:** FIPS COME ON

 **Marco:** IT'S GOING TO BE REALLY FUNNY

 **Fips:** Ok I concede.

 **Fips:** It has potential to be amusing.

 **Fips:** Just this one time.

 **Marco:** YES SIR CAPTAIN

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Sami:** Was it really necessary to put the pic on the gc

 **Sami:** We all have Instagram

"There it is!" Marco crowed, and the private messages started flooding in, most of them congratulating Marco (even Fips).

 **Marco:** but i was curious

 **Marco:** how else was i going to find out an answer to my question?

 **Sami:** PM Mes?

 **Sami:** You don't need to share the photo with everyone

 **Jerome:** i don't mind getting an eyeful of giroud

 **Jerome:** robert just hit me

 **Jonas:** I don't have Instagram

 **Sami:** Yeah but is it fucking life or death to see a picture of Giroud and Mes

 **Jonas:** Sorry, I was just responding to what you said before about Instagram

 **Sami:** Nah don't worry, you don't need to apologise lol

 **Sami:** All I'm saying is they ain't need to share the photo around lmao

 **Thomas:** why not

 **Manu:** Yeah, Giroud is A T T R A C T I F

 **Manu:** Is that the French word for attractive

 **Mesut:** no it's beau

 **Mesut:** and oli's tattoo is like a bible passage

"He's here!" Marco yelled, and Mario gasped in delight.

 **Sami:** So what if he's attractive

 **Sami:** Fucking Mats is attractive

 **Sami:** Doesn't mean I go on and on about it

 **Marco:** excuse me i beg to fucking differ

 **Mats:** AWWWWWWWWWW SAMI

_Private chat between Marco Reus and Mats Hummels_

**Mats:** he just called me attractive i can't be part of this

**Marco:**

 

pathetic

 

/pəˈθɛtɪk/

_ miserably inadequate. _

_ "he's a pathetic excuse for a man" _

** synonyms:  _feeble , woeful, sorry, poor, pitiful, lamentable, deplorable, miserable, wretched, contemptible, despicable, inadequate, meagre, paltry, insufficient, negligible, insubstantial, unsatisfactory, worthless_**

** Mats: **

****

_ bayern won the bundesliga _

** Leon:  ** honey we like to appreciate good lookin's around these parts

** Leon: **  it's a team building activity   


** Leon: **  you don't need to be a part of it   


** Sami: **  I don't want to be part of it   


** Julian B: **  then you can leave the gays to it ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯   


** Mesut: **  they've got a point sam   


** Mesut: **  might be a little weird of them ogling my friend but he is pretty hot   


"ARGH!" Marco roared with laughter. "What colour do you think Sami is right now?"

"He's probably combusted by this point." Mario was crying.

** Sami: **  Yeah well   


** Sami: **  You enjoy your fucking weird hobby   


** Basti:  ** nothing wrong with a little healthy gay admiration, sami

** Lukas:  ** a big fat agree

** Lukas: **  he's my teammate, but, who cares.   


** Lukas: **  you can acknowledge a man's hot without it having to be personal.   


** Lukas: **  jerome   


** Jerome: **  ja   


** Lukas: **  lewy's hot   


** Jerome: **  you better stay about seven hundred fucking yards away podolski   


** Lukas: **  ok, bad person to demonstrate that on   


** Lukas: **  mario

** Mario Gom: **  Which one   


** Lukas: **  the one with a boyfriend saddo   


** Mario Gom:  
**

** Mario Got: **  you called   


** Lukas:  ** marco's good looking

** Fips: **  Lukas why would you even.   


** Marco: **  well that's just objective fact   


** Marco: **  you aren't special for recognising it lukas   


** Marco: **  dyou want a gold star for what a blind man could see   


** Mats: **  oooohhhhhh how i want to slap you   


** Marco: your hand will burn coming into contact with my skin.  
**

** Lukas: **  ok also a bad person to demonstrate it on but you get my point   


** Lukas: **  i can say i find someone attractive without personally having a link with them   


** Sami: **  And what?   


** Lukas: **  just saying   


** Sami: **  Well keep saying   


** Sami: **  Do what you want   


** Sami: **  I'm out   


** Jonas: **  Are you angry?   


** Sami: **  Why would I be fucking angry   


** Jonas: **  Sorry! You just sounded angry   


** Thomas: **  sami do not you even dare come for jonas   


** Sami: **  I'm not coming for Jonas   


** Sami: **  Sorry Jonas lol you don't need to apologise part 2   


** Thomas: **  look there's a simple solution to this   


** Sami: **  Solution to WHAT?   


** Thomas: **  if we say you're attractive too, will you be less mad?   


** Sami: **  WHAT?   


Mario, not for the first time recently, had fallen down.  


**Sami:** I'm not Marco fgs!  


** Sami: **  I don't care!   


** Sami: **  Just keep on doing what you're doing I'm done, that's it!   


** Mesut: **  sounds like something's up sami   


** Sami: **  Oh just fuck off lol   


** Mesut:  
**

  


** Sami:  ** Just have fun ok

** Sami: **  Bye yall   


** Marco: **  ok then, we'll sorely miss u??   


** Thomas:  ** auf wiedersehen!

** Toni: **   **Bis später!**   


It seemed like Sami had genuinely done the equivalent of storming out of the room like a moody teenager. Mario was so far gone that Marco could only pat him, at a loss for words. He received a message a couple of seconds later from Jerome.

_ Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Marco Reus  
_

** Jerome:  ** ICHHHH LIEBEEEEE DICHHHHH

** Marco: **  i aim to please   


** Jerome:  ** jealousy, turning saints into the seaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Mario had finally gotten to his feet again, wiping his face. "Marco, oh my God. How long do you think it'll take, because I genuinely think I'll die before he figures things out."

"You know what, Mar," Marco said thoughtfully. "I don't think it'll be that long."

Mario looked surprised. "You think so?"

"I do. You know why?"

Mario shook his head.

"Sami knows perfectly well he's angry at Giroud," Marco said wistfully. "It'll only be a matter of time before he figures out  _why_ he's angry. I have a feeling he's gone off to have a think about his  _feelings._ "

"Well, okay," Mario said in slight bewilderment. "If you say so, Marc."

"Trust me, Mar," Marco said wisely. "I've seen it all."

***

_ Private chat between Bernd Leno and Marc-Andre ter Stegen  
_

** Bernd:  ** call me

**Bernd** :  we need to talk.   


_ Incoming call from Marc-Andre ter Stegen.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have a cliffhanger!
> 
> i realised that i'm writing olivier and nacho to be speaking english with an accent sort of thing but not the rest of the germans, um, just accept it :P remember my golden rule, nothing is real. i'm also completely headcanonning personalities, sorry if it's not at all accurate arsenal fans :P
> 
> and i know i have barely included per in this fic, sorry! i completely forgot about him! :o
> 
> what'd you guys think? gut? schlecht? ok? thanks for reading!! <33


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus jeder, wie geht's? here i am with another shorttt chapter sorry :P i was watchin the game :P

To say that Marc-Andre had been angry recently would be grossly understating things. He had been livid ever since he had returned to Barcelona from the international break.

Contrary to popular belief, it had  _not_ only been because he missed talking to Bernd. It had been because he was angry that Bernd was acting like such a child.  Marc-Andre would have perhaps been able to accept the silence if he had been given a good reason for it. If Bernd, a twenty six year old man, had calmly told him that he didn't want to talk anymore, he wouldn't have been overjoyed, but he would have at least been able to respect his wishes. It was the fact that Bernd had resorted to  _ghosting_ and not even dignifying Marc-Andre with a response when he had texted that had salted his apples to the point where he had resorted to sending rather... inflammatory messages. Perhaps  _that_ hadn't been the best way forwards, but if it got the man to fucking talk to him, it was better than nothing.

He wasn't going to accept their friendship- or, whatever their relationship was- simply drifting away like a piece of wood in the sea. He was going to make sure that if it ended, it was going to be ended properly, so he wouldn't have to lament about the  _could've, would've_ and  _should've_ beens.

But Bernd had not responded to any of his advances. Even when Marc-Andre had dug deep and called him a coward, he had not received a solitary word in respond. Far from pushing him into misery, the whole situation filled Marc-Andre with a boiling fury. He had always tentatively believed that they were friends, that their constant roasting of each other was all light-hearted beneath the surface. Apparently, he had been wrong, and it hurt. All of Barcelona's beautiful weather, the successful results and the good progress his club was making might as well have been hailstones and losses and relegation, because the only thing he felt beneath his anger was a cold, stinging disappointment.

And it was a feeling Marc-Andre ter Stegen simply wasn't used to.

So when he had received the message from Bernd, after many days of complete silence (Marc-Andre had  _watched_ Bernd send messages on the group chat during this time), he had thought for a split-second (after nearly falling off of the roof he was sitting on),  _no._ _I won't call you._

It had taken a few moments of battling with himself before he decided against throwing away the only opportunity he might have to speak to Bernd about this situation. He had felt a powerful surge of anger rise inside of him again as he saw the two curt messages, but he knew that he wasn't going to let himself lose reason and start shouting immediately. He was going to have a calm conversation and he was going to be the  _bigger man._

When he swiped right and Bernd's face flickered into view, he felt even hotter with rage. The man's expression appeared to be completely indifferent and he was shirtless, sprawled out on his bed, like he usually was when they called each other. It was as if this was just a normal video call, with nothing unusual behind it. When he saw Marc-Andre, he raised his eyebrows.

"Where are you?" he asked flatly. 

Marc-Andre thought he was going to spit out a response, but when he spoke, he sounded quite calm. "On my roof."

"Why are you up there?" Bernd asked, without feeling. Marc-Andre ignored the question.

"I'm going to listen to what you have to say, and then I'm going to hang up." His voice remained to be completely level.

Bernd started to laugh, though he looked a little lost whilst doing it.

"Jesus, Marc-Andre." He continued to laugh, but without any mirth, covering his face with one hand, and not emerging from it. Marc-Andre regarded him coldly.

"Was ist so lustig?" Marc-Andre said. "I'm not seeing the joke. I told you the truth. I'm going to listen and see if you've got anything fucking reasonable to tell me, and then I'll leave you to it. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

He stared straight into Bernd's eyes, which were narrowed as he finally removed his hand from his face.

 _Shout at me,_ Marc-Andre thought.  _Do it. I'm here and I'm ready to do it back. If you want to sever the cord, I'm handing you the scissors. Don't make things more painful. Let me hate you._

"No," Bernd said quietly.

There was silence, other than the sound of birds exploding into flight from a nearby tree. Marc-Andre watched them soar across the pink sky, not wanting to look at Bernd, not wanting to talk to him, wanting to hang up straight away-

"It wasn't what I wanted."

Despite himself, Marc-Andre's eyes went to the man on the phone screen. He was staring downwards.

"Could've fooled me," was all he said, after it became apparent Bernd wouldn't say anymore.

Bernd looked pained. "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?"

"Why should I?" Marc-Andre said savagely. "Is it my job to hold your hand and coach you on what to say? Am I meant to read your emotions perfectly and make sure my responses are convenient to you?  Was willst du von mir?"

"Nothing," Bernd said quietly, which made Marc-Andre want to scream. "All I want is for you to understand."

"That's all I wanted, too! But you seemed hell-bent on making sure I didn't! Good fucking job, Leno!" Marc-Andre's policy on remaining calm had flown off with the birds. "You ignored me and fucking refused on clearing things up! I would've tried to understood if you had made the effort to explain things to me! If you wanted to cut things off, I would've been sad, but I would've dealt with it! But no, you behaved like someone pathetic! _You_ made things difficult for yourself! And, you know what? You'd better say things straight right now, or we're done!"

The finality of his tone seemed to alarm Bernd, because the man's eyes blew wide and he stared at Marc-Andre.

"Don't look at me like you're shocked!" Marc-Andre shouted. Fortunately it was a quiet street. "I mean it! If you're going to keep letting things go on like this, me running around in circles trying to pick up hints and clues in your, your fucking behaviour, or teammates' jokes, then you've got another thing coming! I won't let you make a fool of me, Leno! Just tell me straight to my face how you feel and then we'll go forwards from there, or else it's over!"

There was another long silence, as Marc-Andre stared hard at the setting sun and tried his very best not to let his tears spill over his cheeks. He failed.

"Ter Stegen," Bernd said in a low voice. "I  _want_ to tell you. I do. It's just- it's not so easy-"

"Then you've made your choice-" Marc-Andre started angrily, genuinely about to hang up.

"No- ter Stegen, wait!" Bernd actually sounded frantic, and that was what made Marc-Andre stop. "Please! Just for a few moments- will you listen to me?"

Marc-Andre hesitated.

"If you really don't accept what I'm about to say, you can hang up, and then- then yes, it's over. That's fine." Bernd went pale as he said the words. "But please, just let me say what I have to say, even if you don't like it, Marc-Andre."

It was the sound of his name that made Marc-Andre jerk his head in agreement. He then brushed his fist over his eyes. 

Bernd took a deep breath.

"I want to come to Barcelona."

For the second time that evening, Marc-Andre almost fell off of his roof.

" _What?_ " he demanded, quite beside himself with shock. "You want to- you want to play for- you want a transfer?"

Bernd looked confused for a moment, and then an achingly familiar look of disbelief stole onto his face. "Play for?  _No!_ You idiot, I just transferred to Arsenal! I mean that I want to go to the  _city_ Barcelona!"

Marc-Andre blinked and then tried to keep his expression tough. "Anyone could've made that mistake."

Though he looked as though he was resisting a very strong urge, Bernd said nothing in response to this. Instead, he continued to speak.

"I want to come to the  _city_ Barcelona. I think... we need to talk in person. Before you say anything, just think about it. How often have we spoken in person recently? It's all been over the phone complaining. We're trying to have a serious conversation on a video chat and I just can't get out everything I want to say like this. We need to meet face-to- face, and then we can make a decision about what to do about this. We can talk properly. Give me that chance, and if after we talk you decide you hate me, then we can let things go. No hard feelings.  Let's be reasonable. Let's not act like I've been doing. It's time we face this shit head on, Marc-Andre. I owe it to you. More importantly, we owe it to each other."

Marc-Andre was silent.

"Come on," Bernd said quietly. "These opportunities come and go before you know it. Let's take this chance to talk while we have it."

" _Fine,_ " Marc-Andre whispered, blinking hard again. "Fine. We'll talk in person."

Relief showed on Bernd's face. "Thank you."

"But you've raised a lot of unanswered questions," Marc-Andre said suddenly. "How are you going to get the time to fly here? When am I going to have time off to talk to you? Where will you stay? How long will you stay here for? When do you even want to do this?"

In response, Bernd pulled something out of his pocket. Marc-Andre squinted at it- it looked like a crumpled piece of paper.

And then he saw letters on the paper, and his eyes widened.

It was a plane ticket, to Barcelona, for next week.

***

_Private chat between Jonas Hector and Mario Gomez_

**Mario Gom:** Hey Jonas

 **Mario Gom:** Mind if I talk to you about something?

 **Jonas:** Hey, of course you can!

 **Jonas:** Is everything ok?

 **Mario Gom:** Ja, just peachy, thanks

 **Mario Gom:** Ok no that was a LIE

 **Mario Gom:** Everything is the opposite of peachy

 **Mario Gom:** It's fucking, idk, aubergine-y

 **Mario Gom:** And I hate aubergines they're DISGUSTING

 **Jonas:** Oh wow, what happened?? 

 **Jonas:** Actually you don't have to tell me

 **Jonas:** But I'm here to listen to anything you want to say vent as much as you want

 **Mario Gom:** Thanks

 **Mario Gom:** It's a complicated situation

 **Mario Gom:** I'm going to explain it as concisely as I can

 **Jonas:** Explain it however you can

 **Mario Gom:** Ok

 **Mario Gom:** It is:

 **Mario Gom:** "Shit I can't explain that's killing me"

 **Mario Gom:** Does that sum up the situation well enough for you

 **Jonas:** I'm sorry it doesn't, but that's totally okay, if you feel like you can't explain it it's not your fault

 **Jonas:** And you don't have to

 **Jonas:** You can just tell me how you feel if you like, seriously just say whatever you need to until you feel comfortable enough to explain things properly?

 **Mario Gom:** Why are you so fucking nice you make me want to scream

 **Jonas:** I'm sorry I don't mean to make you feel more stressed

**Mario Gom:**

**Mario Gom:** DON'T APOLOGISE YOU'RE JUST WONDERFUL YOU DON'T MAKE ME STRESSED

**Mario Gom:**

**Jonas:** You're not a problem Mario

 **Jonas:** It just sounds like you're finding things hard to deal with and there's nothing wrong with it

 **Jonas:** It's okay to feel overwhelmed, just try not to blame yourself or it'll make you feel worse

 **Mario Gom:** AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

 **Mario Gom:** I don't know what to say you're so

**Mario:**

****

**Mario:** This is you

**Mario:**

**Mario:** This is me

 **Jonas:** It's not true Mario, you're a great person, I think you're just magnifying your faults right now because you're panicking

 **Mario Gom:** Lol mood

 **Mario Gom:**  I AM kind of freaking the fuck out

**Mario Gom:**

****

**Jonas:** Please try and stay calm, just breathe, you really don't have to feel compelled into telling me something if it's bothering you this much

 **Jonas:** I feel like I should say, I wouldn't at all judge you for anything, if that's what you're concerned about

 **Mario Gom:** No I know you're the last person to judge about anything

 **Mario Gom:** I'M judging MYSELF

 **Jonas:** Can you tell me why?

 **Mario Gom:** NO

 **Jonas:** Okay, that's fine

 **Mario Gom:** YES I CAN TELL YOU

 **Mario Gom:** NO I CAN'T TELL YOU

 **Mario Gom:** I'M DRINKING

 **Mario Gom:** I'M ALSO DYING

 **Mario Gom:** THE WORLD IS FLAT

 **Mario Gom:** THE WORLD IS ALSO ROUND

**Mario Gom: VIELLEICHT BIN ICH NICHT MARIO GOMEZ, SONDERN MANUEL NEUER**

**Mario Gom:** WAS WILLST DU VON MIR

 **Jonas:** The only thing I want is to know that you're okay

 **Jonas:** I don't think this is the right time for you to tell me what you want to say

 **Jonas:** If it is something serious, you might want to tell me when you feel better, do you get what I'm saying?

 **Jonas:** If you really are drinking, it might be impacting your decision making

**Mario Gom:**

**Mario Gom:** Ok no you're right lol

 **Mario Gom:** Wow I am SO annoying

 **Jonas:** I promise you you're not, you're not bothering me at all

 **Jonas:** And I wasn't judging you

 **Jonas:** So you don't need to worry

 **Mario Gom:** I'm like drunk and being high-maintenance and you're just not annoyed?

 **Jonas:** I'm not annoyed at all.

 **Mario Gom:** Wow cannot relate

 **Mario Gom:** I'm furious with myself

 **Mario Gom:** Idk what your Mutti put in your juice when you were little that made u able to tolerate everything

 **Mario Gom:** But I'd like it

 **Jonas:** It's not about 'tolerating' like I'm resigned to it

 **Jonas:** I care about you Mario

 **Mario Gom:** Also can't relate

 **Jonas:** I don't want to tell you what to do, but do you think it might be a good idea to stop drinking?

 **Mario Gom:** Hm let me think

 **Mario Gom:** Can I at least get blind drunk, pass out and then stop drinking

 **Jonas:** I don't think that's a good idea

 **Mario Gom:** Shows how much you know it's worked wonders for my mood before

 **Jonas:** I don't think it has, Mario

 **Mario Gom:** I think it has

 **Jonas:** Do you REALLY think it has?

 **Mario Gom:** Yes

 **Jonas:** I think I'd advise against it

 **Mario Gom:** What if I do it anyway

 **Jonas:** Then there is nothing I can do

 **Jonas:** But seriously, Mario, I really think you should lay off because it won't make things better

 **Jonas:** It might blot things out for now but you've still got a problem

 **Jonas:** All you're doing is adding new problems to momentarily distract yourself and then you have to return to the old problem when you've finished dealing with the new problem

 **Jonas:** I'm sorry, that's so badly worded

 **Mario Gom:** Nah I understand what you mean

 **Mario Gom:** Whether I agree with it is another question

 **Jonas:** Mario, I'm getting really worried

 **Jonas:** I feel like this is a really big problem

 **Mario Gom:** It literally isn't lol

 **Mario Gom:** Im just drunk overexagggerating

 **Mario Gom:** Ok I'm not lol

**Mario Gom:**

****

**Mario Gom:** You know what Jonas Hector of Saarland

 **Jonas:** Yes?

 **Mario Gom:** I will do what I do best

 **Jonas:** And what is that?

 **Mario Gom:** I'm going to sleep, wake up with a crushing hangover, mess up every second of training, look back over this conversation and try and pretend it never happened

 **Jonas:** Mario, the first part is the only part I agree with

 **Jonas:** Try and sleep and clear your head, when you wake up tomorrow, I can call you to see if you're better

 **Jonas:** Maybe when you wake up, you'll be able to think a little more clearly

 **Mario Gom:** Lol sure

 **Mario Gom:** I'll also cry

 **Jonas:** If it helps

 **Mario Gom:** Yeah I'm going to cry I feel awful for fuckingngngngngn burdening you great :))

 **Mario Gom:** Gute Nacht I'm a terrible person

 **Jonas:** Mario please don't think that okay you're not burdening me

 **Jonas:** It'd be more of a burden if I didn't know you were feeling this way and I found out later

 **Jonas:** Just, try and sleep now, try not to overthink, I promise I'm not annoyed or burdened

 **Mario Gom:** Alrighty

 **Mario:** Auf wiedersehen!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Jonas:** Bis spater, mein Freund

 **Jonas:** I'll call you tomorrow, okay?

***

"Babyyyyyyy."

Jerome was reading a book when Robert called out his name, and when he  _heard_ Robert calling out his name, he continued reading his book.

"Was it something I said?" Robert asked, as he approached the sofa where Jerome was sitting. He threw himself at his boyfriend, looping his arms around his neck. "I was just saying  _hello._ "

The look Jerome gave Robert was  _remarkably_ on par with Fips's best unimpressed stares.

"You're bored, so you're going to start being annoying. You're doing what Marco does. You're doing what every older sibling does to their younger sibling when they have nothing better to do with their time."

"Maybe so," Robert said cheekily, without missing a beat, his lips finding Jerome's neck. Jerome shivered a little, trying to stop giggling (he was absurdly ticklish). "But don't you want to  _satisfy_ my boredom, baby?"

"I want to satisfy myself first."

"That can be arranged."

" _Rob!_ " Jerome's face had grown hot, and Robert knew exactly why. "Away with you! I'm trying to read my  _book._ "

"Look, I'll tell you what happens," Robert promised him, plucking the book from Jerome's hands (but making sure to mark Jerome's page) before flicking through it. "Okay. So there's this Polish guy called Robert Lewandowski, who is an extremely attractive man who just wants to have some fun. Unfortunately, our hero encounters a crisis when the man he wants to have fun  _with_ just wants to keep reading a boring old book about... about what? Spy shit?"

"It's _cool,_ " Jerome protested. "It's a murder mystery and I'm pretty sure I know exactly who did it-"

"Not such a good murder mystery then, is it, if you know the twist?"

"No, but here's the thing. I have a hunch that the guy who's actually investigating the case, his brother? His brother is this really nice guy, basically Jonas in print, he's always ill, right? He's barely in the plot. Makes for a good alibi, huh?"

"I wonder what that says about Jonas?" Robert asked with a wink. Jerome wasn't sure what was wink-worthy about it.

"Are you saying Jonas has the potential to be a murderer?" Jerome asked, as Robert draped himself across Jerome again like a child. 

"Like you said, it's a good alibi, being nice."

"Do you even know what an alibi is? An alibi is a story someone has about what they were doing at a certain time. I think. How is being nice an alibi?"

"How would you rather be reading this than having fun with me?" Robert countered, badly, from where he was lying over Jerome, who was holding both of his hands.

"You say that like being around you is fun," Jerome muttered.

" _Baby,_ don't even start. You spent a week without me and you became the equivalent of my opponents after they face me. As in, a pile of goo."

"Robert Lewandowski," Jerome said, yanking on Robert so the man fell even further forwards with a yelp. "You became a sobbing wreck over a pile of pancakes and told me how much you missed me every single day. Don't try and make me seem like the needy one."

"You think I'm  _needy?_ " Robert said indignantly, looking up at Jerome as if mortally offended.

"You are needy," Jerome teased him, poking his nose. "But if you're going out with me, you're bound to be. You'll need me to sustain you every single moment of every day."

He placed a finger over Robert's lips before the man could open his mouth to respond.

"I'll fulfil those needs," he said a little breathily, as Robert's eyes widened. "As soon as I've finished this chapter. Now hush."

And he snatched the book from Robert's hands, hit him lightly over the head with it, and returned to reading.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof lovely overdramatic chap for yallstdve but u didnt think itd be resolved through a phone call did ya ;) now im self conscious bc i think it was disappointing shit is it disappointing im sorry there'sg onna be more to come!!! dw!! also if u accuse me of teasing with this mario thing... ur absolutely right. im loving it <33
> 
> i also wanted to write a lil robome fluff because im robome trash and rob scored 2 and i love him
> 
> VIELLEICHT BIN ICH NICHT MARIO GOMEZ, SONDERN MANUEL NEUER= maybe i'm not mario gomez, but manuel neuer  
> i don't know if anyone knows about the huge german meme about manu after his coke zero advert (WATCH IT!), but it became a big thing to go, "maybe ____, but manuel neuer." i myself got a fail in my english grammar test some years back (look at my enlglish now frau neudert, bitch!), went home to my parents and said, "maybe i didn't actually get a fail, but manuel neuer" and my mother gave me the filthiest look imaginable.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning ! this chapter contains nightmare horror once more. it's actually pretty super angsty jeez. and short. there's not much. god i shouldn't have posted this. promise that next chap will be so much better ARGH i just ain't feeling too good today as my team lost 3-0. i rushed off my line and got punished for it, conceded from my near post and a free kick :') my coach yelled at me the length of münchen for a lack of focus. lovely!
> 
> again i am so sorry for not responding to comments recently, i promise i am reading every single one and loving them and they make me smile beyond belief even during the shitty times! i love you all!

It was disarmingly sunny in Campo Bahia. The sky was cloudless and the umbrellas scattered by the poolside did little to prevent the dazzling rays from penetrating Manu's eyes. He squinted as he raised his hand to shield his face, glancing around the enclosure. His teammates were all lounging on chairs around him, or dipping their feet into the water, chatting amongst themselves, and kissing. Manu did a double-take as he was almost entirely sure that Marco and Mats were- oh, no. They were fighting, and Mario was trying to stop Marco from throwing Mats into the water.

The scene was comfortably familiar and Manu felt relaxed as he looked around the luxurious resort. For some reason he felt like he had all the time in the world, as if he was riding off a wave of post-match euphoria and entering a phase of contentment. This place was perfect for leaving the high pressures of football and letting the knot of tension in your neck loosen. The World Cup wasn't exactly a league game versus Union Berlin, and so it helped to have a place like this for them all to unwind in, when the nervousness mounted a little too high.

Manu's eyes flickered upwards as he saw a familiar face bounding towards him. Thomas was grinning wolfishly at him, looking as radiant as the sun glowing in the sky. He was shirtless and had a towel draped around his neck.

"Schatz!" he said excitably, drawing to a halt by Manu's deckchair and bouncing on the balls of his feet energetically. Manu smiled lazily at him. "Come and take a dip with me, will you? I want to do a couple of laps."

Contemplating this, Manu glanced at the pool. Nobody was in it, unless you counted Jerome and Toni's feet. It looked like it could be fun, to float around in it. Sure, he was inexplicably wearing his goalkeeper attire, but this stuff could easily be stripped away.

"Sure, baby," he said, because it was his Thommy and when could he ever deny his Thommy? "I'll come and swim with you, just give me a moment, yeah?"

The look of excitement that stole across Thomas's face was somewhat comical but it also made Manu feel warm all over, he couldn't help but smile. "Ok, Schatz, see you in a bit!"

Manu watched him run up to the edge of the pool. He cleared his throat, attracting attention from everyone around him, who all looked exasperated, and puffed up his chest, raising his biceps for everyone to see. Manu laughed as he looked around at them all impressively.

"Everyone!" Thomas called, attracting groans. "I'm going to do an inch-perfect dive. It'll be a dive that makes the Olympians look like kids jumping into a pond. It'll be as graceful as-"

Exactly what it would be as graceful as, they didn't find out. Marco had rushed Thomas from behind and pushed him into the pool, making everyone, including Manu, roar with laughter. There was a loud splash and Marco pretended to brush himself off, acknowledging all of the applause with an airy wave of the hand.

Manu leaned backwards, still grinning. He almost wanted to stay lying here on this comfortable deck-chair, but he also knew that Thomas would probably start complaining if he took his time. Seeing as Thomas had not yet surfaced yet, he took the opportunity to get a few more moments of relaxation, stretching his muscles out luxuriously.

As he did so, a strange feeling washed over him. It was almost like the back of his neck was prickling. Manu's gaze travelled out to the pool. Thomas's head had still not popped over the surface of the water yet. And it had been quite a lengthy amount of time. Manu stood up, his blood suddenly running cold. Where was he? Why hadn't he come out yet?

"Thommy?" he called, hauling himself off of his deckchair and stumbling forwards slightly. "Thommy, what are you doing? Are you joking around in there?"

Nothing. Manu's eyes widened as he looked around at his teammates, who didn't seem to have noticed anything. In fact, they were chatting as relaxedly as they had been before Thomas had bounded onto the scene.

"Thommy?" Manu shouted, panic flaring inside of him. "Thommy! Come out!"

He didn't wait for a response this time. He ran forwards towards the edge of the pool and jumped in. Nobody even looked at him as he did so. With his heart hammering in his throat, Manu kicked off the edge of the pool and dived in deep, feeling as though something terrible was about to happen.

As he was submerged, his ears were suddenly filled with a loud ringing sound that did not cease. He could still breathe? He turned on the spot in the water, staring around frantically, but he could not see anything. What was going on? Where was his Thommy?

And then he heard muffled screaming. But it was a voice that he recognised instantly. Manu whirled around on the spot, shouting out- and then he saw him.

Thomas was beneath the water, a few feet away from him, writhing and kicking out as if trying to find the surface. His eyes were wide and his thrashing was utterly desperate, he was trying to hurl himself forwards but he didn't seem to be able to move. Manu immediately kicked off and started swimming towards him, shouting out Thomas's name, holding his hand out. Thomas's green eyes turned towards him and now it seemed that he was screaming Manu's name. The cold fear pulsing through Manu elevated as he saw Thomas struggling on the spot, seemingly unable to reach him.

"Thommy!" Manu screamed, his voice coming out as strangled and muted. He kicked his feet and tried to propel himself through the water, but it seemed to have increased in viscocity. It was like fighting to get through jelly. "Thommy, no! Take my hand! Take my hand!"

He thrust his hand out again, trying to get forwards, towards Thomas, who was drowning. Thomas was howling for him, flailing around, starting to  _choke-_

"Thommy, please!" Manu screamed. "Grab onto me!"

Manu couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, was he going to die?

Thomas made a lunge towards him, and seized onto Manu's hand. The contact made Manu's heart leap- hope wasn't lost- they just had to get to the surface! 

But he found that he couldn't move. Thomas's grip was like iron, rooting Manu to the spot as well. Manu tried to pull on him, still screaming his head off, but Thomas couldn't let go. Thomas's other arm and legs were flailing, he was trying to move-

But he was also slowing down. Manu wailed as he tried in vain to pull, to swim upwards, but Thomas was starting to go heavy in his grip. His free arm stopped waving and went to his throat. Manu felt horror rise within him as Thomas was grabbing at his neck, choking, his eyes blown wide, until his thrashing started to cease. He stopped screaming. And eventually- eventually, all his motion drew to a halt, the fear disappeared from the depths of his eyes- 

"NO-  _NO!_ "

Manu flew awake so abruptly he felt his world tip upside down around him. He sat bolt upright, his face pouring with sweat, before falling forwards and clutching at his hair so tightly that he would probably end up pulling it out. His heart and head were hammering so violently he was sure his body was going to break open.

 _Nightmare. Another nightmare. A fucking nightmare, Neuer,_ he thought to himself over and over, but the sound of Thomas's muffled screaming still echoed in his ears. He felt as though he was half trapped in the dream, his breathing strangled and pained. Mindless fear was still coursing through him, so much so that he had started to cry uncontrollably.

He turned his head between his sobs to look at the man next to him. Somehow, Thomas hadn't been awoken at all- Manu guessed he hadn't started screaming in the real world. His boyfriend was still lying fast asleep, curled up in himself, a slight frown on his face. Manu covered his mouth with his hand to prevent noise escaping his mouth, but all that served to do was make him start gasping. He needed to get out of bed. Shaking from head to toe, he kicked off his covers, which were drenched in sweat, and staggered out of bed, breathing heavily. He stumbled from the bedroom into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

When he heard the clicking of the lock he sank against the door, his muted sobbing growing louder as his restraint seemed to collapse. Tears kept pouring down his face,  faster than he could wipe them away. He tried to think calming thoughts to ease the waves and waves of panic that were still crashing over him, but all he could do was see the image of Thomas's limp body floating in the water, could feel the sensation of  _drowning-_

He buried his face in his knees, fighting to restrain himself from actually screaming. That had been a terrible one, he didn't even know  _why._ Was it the incoming match versus Dortmund? Was it his subconscious punishing him? Or was he genuinely heading towards his breaking point?

Eventually, his sobs dissipated into the occasional miserable hiccough, his quaking body falling still. He stared blankly at the bathroom tiles, suddenly feeling completely drained. He had  _training_ today. How in the world could he do something like that? He felt as though he would never be happy again. Granted, he had felt like this many times before, and he knew eventually the feeling of all-consuming terror would pass, but right now he still felt cold and shivery and God, he couldn't take it anymore.

***

 _"D- Do you you believe in me?_ " 

His head was  _hurting._

" _You ... you can make me believe in anything._ "

God, something was buzzing and he wanted to break it or kill it or erase it from existence.

" _You shouldn't. You_  shouldn't."

He felt as though he could hear every sound in the universe.

" _Why?_ "

Mario was going to have  _words_ with whoever had invented vibrating. They needed to be guillotined.

" _You know why!_ "

His eyes finally cracked open, rage coursing throughout his entire being, looking for the being that needed to be punished. It was his phone. Mario glared at the flashing screen and did not even consider who might even be on the other end of the line as his picked the accursed gadget, swiped right, and shouted, " _What the fuck do you want?_ "

He was then startled to see  _Jonas_ on his screen. Mario realised he was missing several important pieces of information and tried to backtrack, but it was too late. Jonas looked stricken.

"I'm- I'm so sorry!" Jonas said, sounding panicked. "If this isn't the right time, I can hang up, I- I told you yesterday I was just- just going to call to check up on you-"

"No, Jonas, don't worry!" Mario said hastily- his head ached at  _talking._ What on earth was wrong with him? " _I'm_ sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you! I've just got a killer fucking headache at the moment and I really don't feel good. I don't know why, but it's got nothing to do with you, I promise. Sorry!"

Jonas looked tentative at Mario's words. "M-Mario... Do you remember what happened last night?"

This was a question that could never bode well, and it instantly made dread course through Mario's body. His eyes slowly widened as he immediately tried to return back to his most recent memory. And that memory had been lounging around in his kitchen before deciding to pour himself a whiskey. 

"The last thing I remember is getting a drink,  _shit,_ that can't be good." Mario was starting to panic himself. _What did I do?_ "Shit, Jonas, what did I do? I didn't send you any nudes, did I?"

He wasn't sure why this concern had popped into his head first- he was sure he had bigger things to worry about.

Jonas turned a bright, boiling scarlet. "N-No! Nothing like that at all! Don't worry! And you didn't  _do_ anything, at least I don't think so. You were messaging me last night, while you were drunk, and then you said you were going to sleep. So I think you're fine."

" _Drunk messaging?_  God, that can't be good. Are you sure there were no nudes involved?"  _Gomez, why in the fuck are you asking about nudes?_   _Can you think instead of opening your mouth and just letting words spill out?_ "No, sorry, you answered that already. I mean, what was it about? What did I message you about?"

"Well..." Jonas's expression made Mario think,  _shit. Mother fucking shit. Nein. No way. I didn't. I couldn't have. I didn't say it. I didn't-_ "You sort of didn't say  _anything._ "

Mario blinked, the tide of panic that had been mounting within him dissipating somewhat and being replaced by surprise. 

"You were just telling me how you were  _feeling,_ you said you were feeling bad and, and I think you felt a bit overwhelmed," Jonas clarified. "You couldn't tell me why you were feeling that way- that's totally fine, by the way, I'm not saying you had to- and then you said you were going to sleep. Why- why don't you check and see what the conversation was yourself?"

Relief crashed in on Mario but he couldn't relax just yet. He held up a finger to indicate to Jonas to wait one moment and went to his most recent chat. Indeed, it had been with Jonas. He started scrolling through the messages from last night. His eyes slowly widened as he read through everything he had said. It was nothing particularly damning, but goddamn, what an absolute  _idiot_ he was! How much nonsense could one person conceivably manage to spout, because Mario was sure he could beat that record. 

He returned to Jonas, who looked nervous, and tried to keep his expression calm. It was a difficult task.

"Jonas," he said slowly. "I know that conversation doesn't particularly show me in a good light-"

"No, it's fine, you didn't look bad-" Jonas hurried to reassure him.

"Are you kidding me? I was the literal definition of trash.  _Ich war dumm wie Bohnenstroh._ And I know I needlessly concerned you-"

"It wasn't needless, I think you genuinely wanted-"

"I worried you unneccessarily, Jonas," Mario said firmly. "I made it seem like it was something colossal but now I don't even know what I was thinking about yesterday. It was probably nothing at all."

_Lies, lies, lies. It's going to come back to get you, Gomez._

Jonas looked very hesitant. "Mario, are you sure that's true? I don't want to force you into saying anything, and I'm not accusing you of lying-"

_You should be._

"But I don't think it was nothing at all, you seemed really upset, and sometimes alcohol can- it can remove your filter-"

"Or it can make you speak gibberish," Mario offered instead, though his brain was now electric with tension. "Seriously, what I wrote yesterday, it was just such garbage. It was probably about Stuttgart's place in the league, or something. I promise you, Jonas, you don't need to worry. I'm completely fine."

Keeping his expression neutral was more of a challenge than Stuttgart keeping a clean sheet in the Bundesliga, and that was saying something. Jonas looked deeply uncertain, and Mario knew he was battling between his two instincts- he cared about Mario and wanted him to be okay, but he also was too frightened to put his foot down and insist that the man was lying (Mario absolutely knew that Jonas suspected that Mario was speaking garbage now as well). He felt bad about taking advantage of this side of Jonas, but what was he to do?

"Well," Jonas said finally, still sounding nervous. "Okay. If you say so, Mario. But you know I'm always here to listen to you if you want to talk about your problems, right? I don't want you to get scared off or embarrassed by what happened yesterday-"

"Of  _course_ not!" Mario declared emphatically, whilst thinking in his head that his first call to order was going to be fucking smashing his phone into bits with his studs. He wasn't going to text anyone ever again. "I know you're here for me, Jonas, and I'm so grateful for that. You're a great friend."

He gave Jonas a radiant smile, that was returned shyly (but concern was still shining in his eyes).

"Thank you. You are too," Jonas mumbled. He then looked awkward. "I think... I think I'll say goodbye, now. I'm very sorry for waking you up, Mario. I hope you feel better soon. We can talk soon?"

"Yes of course and it's totally fine no need to apologise thank you so much for your support I hope you feel better too bye!" Mario babbled at top speed. He didn't have time to realise what he had said made no sense, Jonas had already smiled at him before hanging up.

When he made absolutely sure the call had ended and that Jonas wasn't somehow on the line (he couldn't take chances, he just couldn't, not after he had just seen what he had done last night), Mario threw his phone across his bed and yelled, " _SCHEIßE!_ "

Words simply could not describe how furious he was at himself. Was he so pathetic that a few glasses of whiskey (at least he assumed it was a few, though his headache spoke otherwise) could open him up like a teddy bear losing its stuffing? Now he had dragged Jonas into things, and no matter how scared Jonas was of trying to be assertive, Mario knew he would be watching Mario like a hawk to make sure he was okay. What a fucking idiot he was! How difficult was it for him to keep his mouth shut? _All he had to do was_   _not talk about this shit!_

He took several deep breaths to calm himself, running through various lists of words to describe himself whilst also contemplating his next course of action. Should he talk to Jonas like normal until Jonas forgot, or should he erase all contact with him and never talk to him again?  _Don't be stupid, Gomez._ The first option was the only way forwards and all he could do was hope that the memory of this would eventually fade and things would return to normal.

 _Fat fucking chance, Gomez,_ he thought scornfully, tipping his head back against his bed.  _You know full well that some memories never fade._

***

_Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Sami Khedira_

**Mesut:** hey, sami?

 **Mesut:** sami?

 **Mesut:** s a m i?

 **Mesut:** samiiiiiiiii

 **Mesut:** SAMI!

**Sami:**

****

**Mesut:** you answered !

 **Mesut:** hello

**Sami:**

****

**Mesut:** sami come onnnnnnnnnnn

 **Mesut:** why are u mad at me!!

**Sami:**

****

**Mesut:**

**Sami:** Fuck's sake

 **Sami:** Why did that of all thins make me laugh

 **Mesut:** because i'm funny

 **Sami:** Doubtful

 **Sami:** You're just annoying

 **Mesut:** cmon sam

 **Mesut:** i don't  get what i did

 **Sami:** You didn't do anything

 **Sami:** You're just annoying in general

 **Mesut:** shmood but

 **Mesut:** what inspired this 'you finding me annoying' thing

 **Mesut:** bc like 1 day ago we were completely fine

 **Sami:** We still are completely fine lol, I'm just joking around

 **Mesut:** are u sure about that

 **Sami:** Ok if you keep asking me questions-

 **Mesut:** but

 **Mesut:** why wouldn't i ask questions

 **Mesut:** ur behaviour has been very questionable

 **Mesut:** like what happened on the group chat

 **Sami:** Don't know what you're talking about

**Mesut:**

****

**Sami:** Ok I was a little bit pissed

 **Sami:** But it's about something different

 **Sami:** Then what all those idiots were saying

 **Sami:** They were just fucking on another plane of wrong

 **Mesut:** was it different???

 **Mesut:** because i did think it was weird they were like suggesting u were jealous of oli

 **Mesut:** and i thought like that can't be right

 **Mesut:** what reason would you have to be jealous

 **Mesut:** that'djust be stupid

 **Sami:** Exactly

 **Sami:** I seriously just don't care about Giroud at all

 **Sami:** Idk why they keep going ON about it like he bothers me

 **Sami:** I've just been preoccupied about other things, you know?

 **Mesut:** oh yeah? with what?

 **Mesut:** you ok?

 **Sami:** Yeah

 **Sami:** It's nothing really

 **Mesut:** you sure?

 **Mesut:** i'm a lil worried now

 **Sami:** You don't need to be fool

 **Sami:** It's silly stuff

 **Mesut:** you sure sure?

 **Sami:** I'm sure sure arsenal are shit

**Mesut:**

****

**Mesut:** me searching for the need of that comment

 **Sami:** I couldn't help myself

 **Mesut:** well try to

 **Mesut:** bitch

 **Sami:** You can help me by playing well

 **Mesut:** ok you fucking know what first of all

Sami set his phone down as Mesut prepared to embark on a spiel in defence of his club. Sometimes, he was intensely grateful that he was a German footballer. You learned certain invaluable life skills when growing up within die Mannschaft, skills you were hard-pressed to learn anywhere else- the arts of deflecting attention, roasting and lying amongst others. 

He took a deep breath. Saying that he and Mes were completely fine was a downright lie, but how was he meant to explain that it was through no fault of Mesut's own, but because Sami fucking despised Olivier Giroud?

It was a complicated situation and Sami hardly understood why he felt this way. But as inexplicable as his hatred was, it was still hatred and he couldn't  _bear_ to see everyone fawning over the French annoyance. It was almost as if the team were trying to egg him on with all their infuriating comments, going on and on about how  _attractive_ he was, about all the ways he was perfect. Well, Sami thought they had things all wrong. The only thing perfect about him was his ability to make Sami want to hit him. 

How was he meant to explain that to Mesut? Again, he had no reason for hating Giroud. The man had never done anything to Sami, other than generally existing. Sami knew that if he tried airing his grievances to his friend it would probably end up in a fight, because Mesut  _loved_ Giroud. Or he would just be misunderstood. And the concept of explaining his feelings to die Mannschaft almost filled him with as much mirth as the idea of Real Madrid winning the Champions League fairly did. They'd be  _completely_ considerate, oh yes, they'd never dream of making fun of him- in fact, why didn't he just make a group chat with Marco, Mario, Toni, Thomas and Jerome and tell them everything?

 _But_ , funnily enough, despite their unbearable behaviour, sometimes Sami  _did_ feel like his teammates actually understood his problems more than he did. It showed in the knowing looks that he had spotted from them during the international break, those  _strange_ comments- the subtle and the not so subtle. For some reason, Sami felt as though they were all sharing a joke at his expense, and he just couldn't figure out what it was  _about._ He was conflicted, to say the least. 

Maybe things would just fizzle out and return to normal, the way they always had been. Maybe the situation would become so pressing he'd  _have_ to ask them what was up. Maybe Giroud would push him over the edge and he'd lose his head. He didn't know. Whatever was coming for him, Sami was just going to have to deal with it. He probably shouldn't spend too much time thinking on it. He should focus his mind on Juventus and think about Mes and Giroud and die Mannschaft when-

He was startled by a vibration from his phone, which cut into his thoughts like a hot knife through butter. Sami had completely forgotten he had set Mesut loose to rant. Smiling to himself, he picked up his phone and went to his messages.

 **Mesut:** and finally, our club has history and competes in a highly prestigious and competitive league

 **Mesut:** thus concludes my essay

Sami grinned, the familiarity of the messages somewhat soothing. This was just another regular conversation between him and his best friend. Why was he being so worried about things being strange between him and Mes? Surely he was just overreacting to something small.  As far as he was concerned, things seemed to be just like they always were. As he tapped in a response that was bound to  _really_ salt Mesut's apples, he thought to himself, _nothing will change between us. No matter how many Girouds or Marcos are out there._

There was a tiny voice inside of him, however, that asked him whether he thought this was really true. Unfortunately, Sami had become practiced in ignoring it, dismissing it as mere paranoia.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bro i feel like these nightmare scenes are too dark for a fic of this calibre??? is it too much?? im sorry, i don't want to pull any punches tho because this shit acc happens and my boyfriend has to see stuff like this and ugh, things get worse before they get better :((( my sweet prince manu will get help!
> 
> god i feel like this is super badly paced. i'm just feeling kind of shit rn, and that's probably contributed to it a lil. i'm sorry if this chap is lower quality than usual. yall deserve better.
> 
> danke jeder for reading <3


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus jeder! here i am with a chapter that is HOPEFULLY better than the last one, i'm in better spirits today because i'm pretty sure i'm going to be the first keeper in our local tournament squad, and what better way to get noticed :) 
> 
> so here's how the next few chapters will work! because i'm extremely annoying, this chapter is a pre-pre match chapter, the only reason for this being i'm extremely pedantic and i want the thirtieth chapter to be the bayern vs dortmund extravaganza! it'll be the perfect celebration of THIRTY GODDAMN CHAPTERS OF THIS NONSENSE! the next chap will be the pre-match, and i'm looking to try something out that will likely be a huge challenge but i'm excited to face it on ;) no spoilers! plus i feel like it hasn't been getting enough build up :)

Mats was distracted this morning.

Benni noticed it from the moment he watched the man re-emerge from the bathroom, having just shaved, without saying a single word about how cleanly cut his beard now was. He said nothing at first, partly because he wanted to wait for more substantial evidence of his boyfriend's mood before he jumped to conclusions, because Mats was fickle with his emotions and could sometimes fall into fits of the sullens over the stupidest things. Case in point, once Benni had been worried about his behaviour- he had watched Mats sit silently on the sofa for an hour, glumly watching  _SOKO Lepizig_ \- and he had enquired as to what was wrong. He had then learned that the local Edeka did not store Mat's favourite brand of no-fat yoghurt.

Needless to say, there was reason for Benni to suspect that there would be a stupid reason for Mats acting like a ghost, especially since Mats usually told him honestly if something serious had happened to him. However, as time passed by, it became clear that his worry would outweigh his wariness, and he would have to ask eventually. He finally decided to question things when he pushed a plate of toast at his boyfriend that went entirely unacknowledged.

"Mats?" he asked tentatively, tossing a knife into the sink- the clattering sound made Mats jump. "Are you feeling alright, baby?"

Mats seemed to travel through several states of being in a single moment- he looked confused, then wary, then hesitant, and then he heaved a huge, dramatic sigh, dropping his head onto the breakfast table. Benni now surmised that there were two possible things going on here. Either Mats was just feeling lazy and was reluctant to go to training that morning, or he was trying to deflect attention by deliberately acting stupid, making Benni think that nothing was wrong.

Benni continued to stare at him, and Mats noticed it- and when he saw that his boyfriend's eyes betrayed not a flicker of remorse, he sighed a second, less theatric sigh.

"I know there's no point in saying that I'm alright, because you won't believe me, so I'll go ahead and I'm say I'm not feeling too peachy," Mats said, carefully avoiding Benni's gaze. "But I'm not  _bad,_ per se. I'm just not feeling at the top of my game, today."

The two of them shared a private smile. Robert's advert, no matter how hard he tried to stamp out the mockery, would be a running joke for the rest of time. Jerome's active aid in the endeavour to eternally annoy him about it meant that he would never get any peace about it.

"Is that so? Why  _aren't_ you feeling refreshed and rejuvenated?" Benni asked, half jokingly but half seriously. "Has something happened?"

"Well..." Mats seemed to be thinking about this question. "No. Nothing's happened  _now._ It's more about something that's  _going_ to happen."

The penny dropped, and Benni was now aware of what his boyfriend was getting at.

" _Ah,_ " he said sagely, though there was a hint of smugness in his tone that Mats noticed immediately. "Am I right in thinking that it's to do with a certain upcoming fixture?"

Mats looked surly. 

"Der Klassiker," Benni said, saying the words as if they nauseated him (they kind of did). "Well, baby, I'm not going to lie to you and say it'll be an easy one. You're not going to be like us in the Revierderby- Dortmund won't be totally outmatched this time-"

"Oh yes, Dortmund, totally outmatched by the mighty Schalke, from their unreachable vantage point at fourteenth in the Bundesliga-"

"But," Benni said more loudly, because he didn't want to get Mats started on Schalke. He wasn't sure his emotional health could handle it this early in the morning. "It's not hopeless. What exactly are you worried about? You've gone through the motions loads of times at this point. You know how the game works from both sides of the spectrum."

"True," Mats sighed. He said nothing more. Benni suspected he'd have to wheedle for more information.

"Are you worried about the result? The venue? Your form? You're going to have to help me out here, Mats," Benni said gently. 

Mats became interested in his toast, picking up a slice and biting into it tentatively. He was still avoiding making eye contact with Benni. 

"Well," Mats said, once he had taken an obnoxiously small bite of the toast and had chewed it for an inordinate amount of time. "You know how I am a frequent user of a certain social media site called Twitter?"

"Yes..." Benni said slowly. "I've always said you look at it too much."

"You've got that right," Mats said, now in a surprisingly small voice. Benni's razor sharp gaze softened considerably. "You'd be amazed about the number of people who seem to dislike me.  _Me!_ I mean, what a thought, people disliking me."

It was clear his heart wasn't in the brag.

"It's always nice opening up your mentions and getting a barrage of abuse about your playing ability," he continued in an even quieter voice. "Sure, there's a lot of nice comments, many from teenage girls who want to marry me. Who wouldn't? But..." He left his sentence hanging.

Benni had an idea of what Mats had left unsaid. Benni was well aware that, despite his outward exterior of self-assurance, Mats was actually deeply self-conscious about a lot of things, whether it be his weight or his personality or his football. Criticism was one of the hardest things for him to deal with- not in an arrogant sort of way, but because sometimes it could genuinely hurt his feelings. Sometimes he lashed out and became defensive about it, but other times he retreated into himself, like he was doing now. Sighing, Benni left his own breakfast and went to draw out a chair by Mats, who had rested his chin on his arms. Mats leaned into him as Benni went in for the hug.

"Oh, baby," Benni said quietly, pressing his cheek against Mats'. "What have I told you about listening to what random people on social media say about you?"

Mats shrugged, though he knew full well what Benni had said to him.

"I've told you that you can't control their opinions," Benni said softly. "You can't stop them from saying horrible things. What you can do is control how you respond to it. You know what we all keep saying each other? That we're playing, not them, and that their opinions actually add up to nothing? It's true, you know, even if you don't believe it."

Mats mumbled something incoherent.

"I hate to say it, but you've got nothing to complain about," Benni teased. "You're gorgeous, you're a fantastic defender, you play for a team that wins everything even if it's undeserved  _don't say anything about Schalke not winning I will bite you._ What has Otto from Siemens got to say about you that's valid? Let the three points do the talking, and they'll move onto someone else to criticise. It's like you said- plenty of people say nice things too. Why focus on the negative?"

"You're being logical, Benni, I can't understand you," Mats joked. "You're right, of course. There's no reason for me to get all in my feelings over a couple of mean tweets. I just do. When I see them, I think in my head,  _um, who even are you?_ But at the same time I feel like somebody's scooped out my insides. I can't help it. And in the build-up to a huge match, you don't really want to be reading about how,  _Hummels shouldn't be in the starting lineup,_ blah blah."

Benni kissed Mats' temple. "I understand how you feel, baby, I really do. I know you can't really help being self-conscious. So you know what I'm going to tell you to do?"

"What?" Mats asked, finally looking Benni directly in the eyes.

"Go and do what we've both done from the beginning," Benni said fondly. "Get a shit-ton of standing tackles. Intercept the ball at crucial moments. And make those beautiful clearances."

Laughing despite himself at how  _football_ that response was, Mats leaned into kiss Benni. 

"I  _am_  going to have to ask you to never utter a word to Marco about this," he said, once they had drawn apart. "I can't imagine how hard the man would make fun of me."

"Who'd you think I am?" Benni said in a slightly insulted tone. "I'd never give up information about you to him, unless you really push me to the edge. And even then I'd only tell him stuff like, the fact you put milk in before cereal-"

"Benedikt Howedes, it is the only way to do it-"

"Literally stop. Anyone who puts in milk first has absolutely no valid opinion on any matter," Benni said firmly, though he was grinning. "Anyway, even if I did tell Marco something like this, do you really think he'd make fun of you? Do you think he's that cruel?"

Mats resolutely pulled away from Benni, his expression firm. "Reus would murder me in cold blood if he had the opportunity to, he'd never pass up a chance to make fun of me about my insecurities."

"Maybe," Benni sighed. "But not major insecurities. He wouldn't go that far. He'd make fun of you about your headers, say-"

Mats's expression was suddenly dangerous. "Benedikt-"

"But, then again, who wouldn't?"

Benni managed to anticipate the blow to the shoulder he received, and he flung his arms around his boyfriend goofily, causing Mats to flail his arms around in annoyance and demand that he was released. But eventually Mats melted into the hug, all thoughts about a few mean tweets going forgotten.

***

It was a bright day in Sabener Straße, and Bayern München were in brighter spirits. Normally a pre-match training session would serve to be a quite high-pressured environment, but Kingsley Coman's return to the fray after his injury had considerably lightened everyone's moods. The winger had received quite the hero's welcome upon his arrival at the training ground.

"How are you feeling, King?" Robert asked the Frenchman, as the man jogged up and down beside him and Jerome, looking just as energetic as he did when on form. It was a nice sight. "Starting again just before the game versus Dortmund! Fühlt sich gut an?"

Kingsley both looked contemplative and excited.

"On the one hand, I'm fucking hyped up to finally be able to step on a pitch again. On the other, I feel like I'm gonna need an armed guard to get me through this game unscathed. A huge game that Kingsley Coman's actually featuring in? It'll probably turn into a huge game that Kingsley Coman gets  _injured_ in."

"Don't say that," Jerome chided him. "You know Marco wouldn't let anyone deliberately injure you, he'd be furious if something like that happened."

"Yeah, well," Kingsley said darkly. "Reus might stop his team from injuring me, but can he stop the forces of nature?"

"He likes to think he  _is_ a force of nature," Robert said fairly, and all three of them shared a sage nod.

When they started laps, everyone grinned as they saw Kingsley race ahead of them all, speeding alongside Leon, who was struggling to catch up and looking disgruntled.

"It's good to see him back," Jerome said appreciatively, as he and Rob jogged considerably behind everyone else to get some time to talk before they were subjected to a brutal training session. "We need a player who can actually score goals, we've been lacking a little in that department recently-"

"If only we could have a centreback who could cover his mark, that'd really round things off nicely for us," Robert bit back, without missing a beat. Jerome scowled at him. "Don't dish it out if you can't take it, you big brick shit house."

"You know, you really suck. With Germany I can actually insult people back because they're all heavily flawed, but you're practically perfect," Jerome said glumly. He wasn't even saying it to be particularly flattering. "What bad things can I say about you that are true?"

Robert couldn't help but laugh. "I can direct you to a certain Poland versus Portugal fixture, there's a wealth of material there-"

"Hey!" Jerome said warningly. "What did I say about self-deprecation related to Poland?"

"Oh, right," Robert sighed. "I'm not allowed to do it."

"That's right. It's disallowed. Now you have to say five good things about yourself."

"Hm, let's think." Robert genuinely needed time to contemplate upon this- Jerome's unimpressed look grew stronger by the second. It was only when they surpassed Leon, who had given up trying to race Kingsley, that he spoke again. "I'm a good goalscorer. My hold-up play is to die for. Um..."

Jerome glared at him. "You know there are many, many more-"

"Oh, alright. I've saved our asses multiple times. I've been the highest goalscorer in the league multiple times. Er-"

He bit his lip as he tried to think of a fifth option. He looked at Jerome and felt inspired.

"I'm really, really sexy," he said in a low voice, nudging his boyfriend in the side.

The brief expression of surprise on Jerome's face that he hastily tried to hide was all Robert needed to see- now he could die feeling content. 

"You are," Jerome conceded. "That's valid and correct. And you know what? Get a hat trick tomorrow and I'll- and I'll..."

Jerome trailed off mid-sentence, suddenly blushing furiously. This was also another sight that Robert would like to see before he died. Jerome's shyness about sexual innuendos would never cease to delight him. It didn't matter how many times they had had sex, it didn't matter that Jerome and Robert were literally as tight as ass cheeks, Jerome would never fail to get embarrassed trying to be lewd. 

"What'll you do?" Robert prompted, winking outrageously, as Jerome continued to blush. "I'm waiting to hear the  _scandalous_ details..."

"Bite me!" Jerome rushed out, increasing his speed to try and get away from his boyfriend. Robert caught up in less than half a second.

"C'mon, Jeri," Robert said slyly, as Jerome looked aghast. "I'll need some inspiration if you want me to score a hat trick..."

Jerome floundered around for something to say, and then he dived for an opportunity for divertion when he saw Thomas and Fips jogging alongside each other. He sped up to catch up with them with Robert at his tail- he seized Jerome around the shoulders, trying to playfully drag him to the ground.

"What's going on with you two?" Thomas asked with a grin, as the two of them wrestled with each other. "You're looking  _remarkably_ upbeat considering upcoming events. I swear, Nico is acting like we're attending a funeral."

"I'm upbeat because Jeri offered me sex in exchange for a hat trick," Robert said candidly.

" _Rob!_ "

Fips raised his eyes to the heavens. "I should hope there are other motivations involved for you getting a hat trick, Lewandowski."

Thomas, on the other hand, looked pensive. "Hey, Manu's never offered  _me_ anything in exchange for a hat trick. Though, that's probably because they're expected of me."

"Oh, yeah?" Robert said challengingly. "Let's see if that's true. Let's do a little gambling, Müller. If I get a hat trick, I get a hundred Euros, if you get a hat trick, you get a hundred Euros."

This was a popular pasttime in the team- betting on who would accomplish certain endeavours during a match. Though Fips put on an outward exterior of being disapproving about such behaviour, he privately had a bet on himself- Miro had bet him fifty euros he wouldn't be able to make a perfect clearance from a ball in by Marco. Fips had risen to the strangely specific challenge immediately (who was he to deny the opportunity to silence Marco Reus?).

"You're on," Thomas said without the slightest hesitation. 

"What if I score a hattrick?" Jerome put in from the side.

Robert gave his boyfriend a weird look. "Then we'll wake you up from whatever dream you've entered."

He narrowly managed to avoid being shoved over several cones and winked obnoxiously at his boyfriend as they finished their run.

When Thomas joined Manu's side after his warm-up, Manu felt his heart skip a beat, but he arranged his face into a pleasant smile. Thomas grabbed onto his arm and pecked him on the cheek, looking remarkably peppy.

"What's the happy occasion?" Manu asked lightly, kissing Thomas's forehead in return (and relishing the sight of him actually being alive and vibrant and breathing). "Something I should be informed of, Thommy?"

Thomas winked at him. "I'll inform you after the match, 'cause I don't really want to jinx things. But it's also, I'm just feeling kind of excited, and happy. I feel like things are going better! You didn't have a, a nightmare last night, did you-"

Manu looked away.

"-Kingsley's back, Thiago's back, God knows we've needed them, don't tell Arjen or James. I feel like this match- touch wood-" Thomas looked around frantically for a piece of wood and had to jog over to a fence before he continued speaking. "- will go okay. I think! We've needed a bit of luck recently, you and I, and Bayern, huh? Lewy especially needs some luck."

Manu looked over at where Lewy was horsing around with Jerome and Mats, thought back to the international break, and thought that this was an apt conclusion.

"You're right, Thommy," Manu said with a smile, trying not to flinch as Thomas squeezed his hand. "Let's just hope it's not Marco's lucky day tomorrow too."

Thomas nodded solemnly, and then, like a rocket, raced off to go to his station. As Manu watched him and his happiness go, it felt like the warmth was draining out of the air.  _You didn't have a nightmare last night-_ how was he supposed to keep up the charade to keep Thomas blissfully oblivious?

Maybe it was time to have it not be a charade. Maybe he really needed to get things sorted. As Manu turned to the goalkeeper coach, who had just finished a brief drill with Sven, he thought,  _maybe it's time to call Miro._

***

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Marco:** well

 **Marco:** it's that time again

 **Fips:** Oh, God.

 **Marco:** oh, yes.

 **Leroy:** what is it?

 **Fips:** Here we go.

 **Marco:** i'm glad you asked, sane

 **Marco:** it's just something small

 **Marco:** something that makes me feel pretty satisfied

 **Marco:**  it's only the upcoming destruction of bayern's title defence, is all

 **Thomas:** i just sighed exactly like fips sighs what am i turning into

 **Marco:** BAYERN VS DORTMUND

 **Marco:** THE GAME THE FOOTBALLING WORLD HAS ALL BEEN WAITING FOR UP IN THIS BITCH

 **Marco:** IT'S TIME FOR DIE MANNSCHAFT TO PLACE THEIR BETS

 **Marco:** THROW OUT THEIR PREDICTIONS

 **Marco:** LET'S GO

 **Benni:**   **God I'm dreading Revierderby.**

 **Mario Got:** muller

 **Mario Got:** i bet you 50 euros that i'll make the game-changing assist and not you

 **Thomas:** fyuck bold of you

 **Thomas:** i already bet 100 with lewy i'd get a hattrick shit

 **Sami:** Lmao 

 **Thomas:** what the fuck are you laughing at

 **Thomas:** it's a good investment

 **Marco:** yeah, for lewandowski

 **Marco:**   **actually it isn't both of you will lose your money because you will score no hattricks.**

 **Marco:** wait one moment

_Private chat between Marco Reus and Robert Lewandowski:_

**Marco:** dickhead

 **Robert:** You called?

 **Marco:** 100 euros i'll get a hattrick instead of you

**Robert: 200 euros for me**

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Marco:** ok i'm back and i'm 100 euros richer

 **Marco:** how about we go for the hattrick bet too muller

 **Manu:** Thommy you're going to lose 250 euros

 **Thomas:** you're going to lose a clean sheet don't test me manuel neuer

 **Thomas:** i'll maintain my money and gain more

 **Thomas:** you're on, reus

 **Miro:** Thomas

 **Thomas:** wha

 **Miro:** Lasgt timre you lost 1000 euros

 **Thomas:** eat me

 **Thomas:** i'll make bets with everyone of you bitches

 **Sami:** Muller you'll drive yourself into financial ruin

 **Sami:** Anyway I'm gonna put out a prediction

 **Sami:** Hattrick for Lewandowski and a consolation goal for Gotze

 **Sami:** 3-1 end result

**Marco:**

**Marco:** i'm gonna put out a prediction myself

 **Marco:** juve will get relegated

 **Sami:** Hey, I spoke my mind

 **Mesut:** bold prediction have you seen alcacer

 **Manu:** Yes. I can save anything he throws at me

 **Manu:** Lightweight 

 **Jerome:** MANU WHAT THE FUCK

 **Jerome:** YOU'VE JUST JINXED THE WHOLE GAME

 **Thomas:** don't worry i forced him to touch the floorboards

 **Lukas:** i ain't hearing anyone talking about bayern's midfield mastermind

 **Marco:** that's because there isn't one

**Basti:**

**Leon:**

****

**Thomas:**

****

**Basti:** i think i just heard a whole load of shit 

 **Basti:** sami will look like a regionliga player when i show up in this match

 **Basti:** khedira the central midfielder whom

 **Basti:** schweinsteiger will create the game

 **Sami:** Yeah ok Schweinsteiger you know what

 **Sami:** I don't know what to say that hurt my feelings

 **Basti:** good

 **Leon:** i am literally better than mesut so um? ? ? midfield mastermind up in this bitch too

 **Mesut:** lmfao

 **Mesut:** cool!

 **Mesut:** what's your assist rate

 **Mesut:** yep that's right nothing compared to me 

**Mesut:**

**Thomas:** as i've said, i'm the top attacking mid of this team

 **Thomas:** so marco, everything uu say is literally wrong

 **Toni:** Muller

 **Thomas:** 3-0 vs eibar

 **Toni:** Bye

 **Fips:** I'm not hearing anybody talking about the rightback who will have a perfect pass rate tomorrow.

 **Joshua:** awww

 **Fips:** Joshua you are deluded you will wither on the bench while I still have a career.

 **Joshua:** not long left then

 **Fips:**  Reus I will counter every maneuver your team comes up with.

 **Fips:** There's no question about who will win MoTM

**Jerome:**

****

**Jerome:** i'd watch out if i were u fips

 **Jerome:** i'm looking to replicate some of that form tomorrow if you get my vibe

 **Fips:** Keep looking.

 **Mario Gom:** Guys 

 **Mario Gom:** I don't have a prediction but I have a request

 **Mario Gom:** Can you make sure there's a huge upset so people can forget about Stuttgart's result

 **Mario Gom:** Manu can you like, rush well off your line and get nutmegged

 **Ron-Robert:** Please.

 **Manu:** Mario can you like, become a good footballer

 **Manu:** My sheet will be clean

 **Thomas:** during the match that is

 **Marco:** can you leave this group chat

 **Thomas:** i made it

 **Jonas:** I'd make a prediction but

 **Julian D:** Jonas you're not up to it you'll just get bullied by both sides into a nervous collapse

 **Julian D:** Just don't bother

 **Julian D:** I'll make a bet tho

 **Julian D:** Dortmund can die.

**Benni: Oh cool you're showing Schalke spirit are you?**

**Marco:** where was that energy when you were actually with them julian

 **Julian D:** Reus literally shut up we're leading in this derby

 **Benni:** Who's 'we'?

 **Julian D:** Benni. I'm on your side

 **Marco:** i feel that benni

 **Benni:** You shouldn't be feeling anything Reus. I want nothing but the worst for you

 **Mario Gom:** Speaking of 'nothing but the worst'

 **Mario Gom:** Stuttgart

 **Mario Gom:** Seriously just an upset please

 **Mario Gom:** A 7-1

 **Mario Gom:** A Zaza penalty

 **Mario Gom:** We need a moment of peace

 **Miro:** Mario you wilw 

 **Miro:** be fine

 **Miro:** I promise you will be good

 **Miro:** You always are

 **Mario Gom:** Thanks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Julian B:** lol miro don't you feel bad blatantly lying

 **Julian B:** im gonna ask the opposite

 **Julian B:** bayern and dortmund can you have a really boring match so leverkusen look better

 **Jonas:** What the fuck do you want them to do brandt? Sit down? It'll take a lot to make leverkusen look better lmfao

 **Julian B:** wait-

 **Marco:** whoa whoa hold on

 **Marco:** am i sure that i read the name of whom said that message correctly

 **Mario Got:** am i hallucinating

**Thomas:**

****

**Mario Gom:** Bro waß

 **Leroy:** it's been like 1 minute and no apology what's going on

 **Jonas:** OH MY GOD I'M SO SORRY THAT WASN'T ME!!

 **Jonas:** THAT WAS TIMO HE TOOK MY PHONE

 **Leroy:** there it is carry on everyone

 **Julian B:** my heart literally stopped

 **Joshua:** can u imagine

 **Jonas:** I'm so sorry Julian I would never say Leverkusen are bad

 **Jonas:** I have no place to say any Bundesliga side are bad!!!

 **Mario Gom:** You have a place to say we're bad

 **Jonas:** No I don't!! I got relegated!!!

 **Mario Gom:** You'll literally just move back up we'll be swapping places

 **Marco:** guys i'm sensing a huge digression we weren't talking about bang average sides now were we?

 **Marco:** apart from jonas you're alright

 **Jonas:**??? I'm worse than all of them

 **Marco:** no you're not

 **Marco:** anyway

 **Marco:** 7-1 to us, i'll let muller score the one, mario will get another hattrick alongside me and paco will get one too

 **Marco:** simple mathematics

 **Marco:** odds on hummels missing a crucial header?

**Benni:**

****

**Jerome:** JESUS IT'S FIPS

 **Thomas:** i'll put money on him getting it in

 **Fips:** Thomas you'll go bankrupt.

 **Jerome:** where even is mats shouldn't he be at the centre of all this bickering

 **Jerome:** it's marco being narcissistic and header jokes and he's just not here?

 **Benni:** He's having a bath

 **Benni:** He left his phone outside because he 'wouldn't be able to control himself'

 **Benni:** Don't know what that means but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 **Marco:** he just doesn't have the nerve

 **Marco:** we'll be nutmegging him left right and centre

 **Marco:**  münchen will be begging us to take him back

 **Marco:** and you know what we'll do

 **Marco:** we'll shoot him off target back to the allianz arena

 **Benni:** Just you wait till he gets his phone back

**Marco: im quaking**

**Marco:** tell him to preserve all that malevolent energy for tomorrow

 **Benni:** Too late

 **Benni:** He just got out of the bath

 **Benni:** I just sighed right now

 **Benni:** Here we go

 **Fips:** It's okay we have Niklas.

 **Fips:** And Leon to score the headers.

 **Joshua:** i giggled that is decidedly NOT the spirit

 **Marco:** fisp i dont wanna agree with u but i have to agree wih u LMAO

 **Marco:** where is hummels then

 **Marco:** i'm not seeing a message

 **Marco:** oh wait i am

***

_Private chat between Mats Hummels and Marco Reus_

**Mats:** _right._

**_To be continued._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)))
> 
> thought i'd add some hömmels fluff and a little depth to mats (i read some stuff about his weight issues and stuff and he's always struck me as the type to be confident but also insecure??) because there hasn't been enough of them :P also don't worry about the lack of marco vs mats in the groupchat this chap! ;)
> 
> was this chapter ok?? gut schlecht ok? sollte ich besser sein?
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed! i really have no idea how long this fic is going to be but it's nowhere near finished, i have a feeling some of yall will get bored :P but i'm excited for all the things i have planned! this fic is such a lovely longterm project to work on to relieve my stress from training and studying on the side :)
> 
> love you all danke fürs lesen! onto the next chapter and then the big one!


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the pre-match chapter, and also a test of just how good i really am! i'm going to attempt to make a whole chapter be just one conversation between mats and marco with nobody else involved! let's see if i can keep the momentum going! god this is going to go so badly!

_Private chat between Marco Reus and Mats Hummels_

**Mats:**  ok reus

 **Mats:** listen up

 **Mats:** whatever happens tomorrow, come rain or shine, come injury come offside flag

 **Mats:** i'll be personally fucking eviscerating you, alright?

 **Mats:** i'll start by ripping off your cock

 **Mats:** and then i'll wing it from there

**Marco:**

**Mats:** i don't care whatever speeches are made about sportsmanship

 **Mats:** you're going to fucking lose and that's that

 **Marco:** isn't it amazing how our relationship has changed

 **Marco:** from touchy-feely to smashy-testes

 **Mats:** und das dicke Ende kommt noch

 **Marco:** yeah, ok hummels

 **Marco:** we've been through this song and dance before

 **Marco:** you've told me bayern are going to win

 **Mats:** and we have

 **Mats:** multiple times

 **Mats:** 6-0

 **Mats:** 3-1

 **Mats:** 4-1

 **Marco:** yeah ok cool you know what

 **Marco:** first of all

**Mats:**

****

**Marco:** bitch

 **Marco:**  things are fucking different now

 **Marco:** we have jaden and paco

 **Marco:** i'm actually going to participate in this game

 **Marco:** we're going to fucking win

 **Marco:** my presence makes the difference

 **Mats:** does it fucking really

 **Marco:** yes it fucking does

 **Marco:** i'm going to fucking navigate the ball past alaba

 **Marco:** i'm going to put it through joshua's legs

 **Marco:** i'm going to sky it over jerome

 **Marco:** you'll jump to head it off and it'll soar right over your head and into the top corner of the net

 **Marco:** and that'll happen 3 times because i'm getting a hattrick

 **Marco:** and then mario will score beautifully 3 times as well

 **Marco:** then you will cry that you ever left borussia dortmund

 **Mats:** cool!

**Mats:**

 

 **Mats:** i think i'll cry that i was ever there

**Marco:**

**Marco:** you're a fucking joker 

 **Marco:** we gave you everything hummels

 **Marco:** we developed you

 **Marco:** you were our captain

 **Marco:** and then you sashayed off like a little glory-hutning bitch just like lewandowski

 **Marco:** now the team's in reliable hands again with ME as our lead we'll be fine

 **Marco:** we've rid the FILTH that clung to our walls

 **Mats:** cool

 **Mats:** did u say this sort of stuff about gotze when he left by the way? i forget.

 **Mats:** because if i recall correctly he left you guys before ur semi final UCL match

 **Marco:** fuck off

 **Marco:** you were the huge hypocrite in that situation

 **Marco:** first it was

 **Marco:** i cAn'T bElIeVe tHaT mArIo wEnT tO bAyErN

 **Marco:** then it was

 **Marco:** http://www.espn.co.uk/soccer/soccer-transfers/story/2878301/bayern-munich-sign-borussia-dortmunds-mats-hummels-to-five-year-deal

 **Mats:** i played for bayern's youth teams

 **Marco:** and you signed a permanent deal with us!

 **Marco:** you were worse than mario and that's that

 **Marco:** at least ilkay didn't go to our fucking rivals

**Mats:**

**Mats:** clearly logic and reason aren't your strong points

 **Mats:** mario literally left u guys before a crucial match for your rivals

 **Mats:** and I'M the worse offender?

 **Marco:** mario had his reasons

 **Mats:** his reasons were the same as mine

 **Mats:** he wanted more

 **Marco:** don't fucking test me hummels

 **Marco:** we were on par with bayern before everyone left

 **Mats:** that's not true and you know it

 **Mats:** you're just fucking bitter

 **Marco:** your fucking playstyle is bitter

 **Marco:** you're gonna be producing fucking porn for your fans tomorrow

 **Marco:** because what they're gonna be seeing is bayern getting roundly fucked

 **Mats:** au contraire

 **Mats:** what they'll see is beautiful touches all over the place

 **Mats:** and dortmund struggling to keep control

 **Marco:** ok that was my fault for using that analogy

 **Marco:** you fucking suck hummels

 **Mats:** and you swallow

 **Mats:** disappointment after disappointment

 **Mats:** when are you going to give up this idea that dortmund will have a fairytale season

 **Marco:** when you develop pace

 **Marco:** karma is coming hummels

 **Marco:** all of those who left are going to regret it

 **Marco:** the treble is incoming

 **Mats:** the only treble that's coming your way is lewy's hattrick

 **Marco:** um??????????????????

 **Marco:** the only thing clinical about lewandowski's finishing is how it puts people into hospital because they jump off the stands in disappointment because he MISSES it

**Mats:**

****

**Mats:** you just channelled this man

 **Marco:** fuck off that was a good roast

 **Mats:** it decidedly wasn't

 **Mats:** i have a reccomendation don't put the energy of that roast into YOUR finishing tomorrow if you're really hellbent on winning

 **Marco:** can you do me a favour?

 **Mats:** i'm feeling charitable, sure

 **Marco:** leave the country and never come back.

 **Mats:** if that's really the only way you can think of to win ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 **Marco:** i can think of a number of others

 **Marco:** WHICH INCLUDES GETTING THE BALL PAST YOU BECAUSE YOU SUCK AND CAN'T MARK PEOPLE AND ARE TOO SLOW TO MAKE GOOD INTERCEPTIONS OR CLEARANCES

 **Marco:** speaking of 'good'

 **Marco:** let's put a fucking bet in okay

 **Marco:** you little bitch

 **Marco:** i bet you that i'll get past you when i score a goal

 **Mats:** LMAOOOOO

 **Mats:** you're really saying it with confidence

 **Mats:**  ok let's do it

 **Mats:** how much

 **Marco:** a straight 500 euros

 **Mats:** you're deluded

 **Marco:** and you're scared

 **Mats:** in your fucking wildest dreams would i be scared of ur nonsense

 **Mats:** but if you think i'm putting in 500 euros for a bet

 **Marco:** you're fucking scared because you know i can do it

 **Mats:** you can literally fucking eat my mother in front of me what a bunch of bullshit

 **Marco:** then accept the bet, pussy.

 **Marco:** 500 euros is water off a duck's back for u

 **Mats:** 500 euros?

 **Marco:** 500 fucking euros

 **Marco:** if u think ur finances can manage it

 **Marco:** how much do they pay regionliga players these days?

 **Mats:** right

 **Mats:** you fucking spoon

 **Mats:** we're upping it to 1000 euros

 **Mats:** if you get the ball past me and score it goes to you

 **Mats:** if i make the clearance it goes to me

 **Marco:** a done deal

 **Marco:** i'm going to be earning SO much fucking money

 **Marco:** 100 from muller, 100 from lewandowski, 1000 from u

 **Marco:** that's a whole 1200 in my pocket

 **Mats:** **dortmund will earn a lot when they sell you.**

**Marco:**

**Marco:** almost as bad as his haircut too

 **Mats:** shut the fuck

 **Mats:** actually i retract that roast

 **Mats:** dortmund will earn nothing when they sell you because you're worth nothing

 **Marco:** if 75m can buy romelu lukaku i wouldn't want to see the price on me

 **Mats:** what club would put in cash to pay for u

 **Mats:** mind you knowing bvb they'd give you away for free anyway

 **Mats:** just like they gave lewy away

 **Marco:** yeah but i literally live in the heart of the club

 **Marco:** my spirit resides in every player and every result

 **Mats:** mmm 6-0 to bayern

 **Marco:** anyway you fat fuck

 **Marco:** dortmund would never even sell me ever

 **Marco:** not willingly anyway

 **Marco:** i mean do u even understand what talent is

 **Marco:**  forgive my concern, but it's a bit like asking if a dog can grasp the concept of Norway

 **Mats:** a dog would be able to grasp the concept of norway better than me grasping the concept of you being talented

 **Mats:** and i can't believe you called me a fat fuck

 **Marco:** oh don't get offended

 **Marco:** i wasn't targetting ur weight issues it was just a general insult

 **Mats:** yes u were

 **Mats:** that was so mean marco

 **Mats:** u know weight jokes are below the belt for me

 **Marco:** yeah i know

 **Marco:** i didn't mean to 

 **Marco:** im sorry

 **Mats:** wait did you just apologise

 **Marco:** no i don't recall

 **Mats:** you just fucking apologised for insulting me what the frick frack

 **Marco:** i don't think so

 **Mats:** screenshot:

_**[** **Marco:** yeah i know_

_**Marco:** i didn't mean to _

_**Marco:** im sorry]_

**Mats:** you can delete ur messages but i just screenshotted it

 **Marco:** you saddo

 **Marco:** you actually screenshotted it

 **Mats:** bc that was unexpectedly sweet

 **Mats:** you actually apologising for something

 **Marco:** for god's sake you and lewandowski are the exact same

 **Marco:** i behave in a slightly civil way and you act like i confessed my love to you

 **Marco:** i LITERALLY hate you hummels

 **Marco:** i consider you to be lower in my books then arjen robben

 **Marco:** you're not even in my books

 **Marco:** what does it matter if i apologise to u

 **Mats:** yeah but if u REALLLLY felt like that why would u apologise

 **Marco:** idk what ur talking about

 **Mats:** you've done stuff like that before too

 **Mats:** screenshot:

_**[Marco:** yeah why dont u play like u did in 2015 october lmaoo_

**_Mats:_ ** _ok that was just mean_

**_Mats:_ ** _you know i was having a shit time reus_

**_Mats:_ ** _how are you just gonna throw that against me_

**_Marco:_ ** _ok fine you're right_

**_Marco:_ ** _im sorry hummels **]**_

**Marco:** that's just literally ridiculous u screenshotted that

 **Marco:** it's been like 6 months

 **Mats:** it was for posterity

 **Mats:** i made a mental note to send it on a group chat whenever you were being annoying but i probably just forgot

 **Marco:** yeah well 

 **Marco:** it means nothing

 **Marco:** i could retract those apologies rn

 **Mats:** do it then

 **Marco:** what's the point

 **Marco:** the only thing i can do rn is show u how much u suck tomorrow

 **Marco:** which i was going to do from the beginning

 **Marco:** then you and lewandowski both will stop acting like i care about you

 **Mats:** ok, then

 **Mats:** let's do it then

 **Marco:** fine

 **Marco:** until tomorrow then, bitch

 **Mats:** auf wiedersehen, fickfehler

 **Marco:** concede an own goal, you piece of shit!

**Marco:**

**Mats:** miss a penalty, you ugly bastard!

**Mats:**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lordt this was so hard making a whole chapter based off this idek if i managed it... what did yall think? gut schlecht ok??? idek ofc i'ms elf conscious i never am not selfconscious omgehgtih.
> 
> next chap is the big onee!!


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MATCHDAY!  
> bayern münchen vs borussia dortmund

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS SO LONG IM SO SORRY
> 
> before anything, i'd like to dedicate the 30th chapter of this fic to Ximena13! your comments are so lovely and sweet and i'm glad you've delved into the world of football this year! (good job ever getting out lmao you're in it for good)
> 
> and now! this is the big one, a culmination of petty rivalry and matchday hype, bayern vs dortmund! as a bayern fan i've tried to be objective in my writing of this match (dear god was it hard). i've been really excited to write this one, as a german who breathes football i hope i convey the spirit of the match well! 
> 
> OK SO I JUST FOUND OUT ARJEN IS RETIRING AT THE END OF THIS SEASON FROM BAYERN AND I'M FUCKING CRYING. HOW HAVE I WATCHED THIS MAN FOR 10 YEARS AND HE'S JUST LEAVING. ARGH!!!! I'M LITERALLY HEARTBROKEN IT'S THE END OF AN ERA
> 
> lineups (again time doesn't exist):  
> bayern  
> manu  
> jerome  
> mats  
> fips  
> david  
> leon  
> basti  
> ribery  
> thomas  
> arjen!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((( <3333333333333  
> lewy
> 
> dortmund  
> weidenfeller  
> pisczek  
> subotic  
> zagadou  
> hakimi  
> weigl  
> witsel  
> sancho  
> mario  
> großkreutz  
> marco
> 
> auf geht's!

 The pre-match training was in full effect in München, and it had all the makings of a classic Dortmund versus Bayern thriller. The session was rampant with tension and nerves and there was a  _lot_ of yelling. Case in point, Fips was currently bellowing himself hoarse at Mats, whilst Manu was yelling at Niklas for losing focus in a defensive maneuever. Overall, the atmosphere was electric and things were liable to explode if they didn't get on the pitch soon. 

Robert was using the stretch bands with Jerome, an expression of great concentration on his face as he pushed his leg back. This was one of the most important games of the year, but not only that, it was his opportunity to prove himself after such a disastrous international break. He looked angry in every warm-up activity he was doing, the memory of his past humiliation fuelling him forwards and making him somewhat aggressive. Jerome was trying to remain focused himself, but he couldn't help but feel worried about the intensity of his boyfriend's current mood.

"Rob?" he said at one point, when they had finished their stretches and headed over to the quick round of circuits. "You feeling okay?"

"I'm feeling just fine, Jeri," Robert said somewhat more sharply than was necessary.

Jerome winced. "I know you're feeling, um... the heat. But try and relax a little, yeah? I mean, throw all that aggression at Dortmund, but you might give yourself a heart attack if you continue like this."

The scowl on Robert's face dissolved into a smile as he regarded his boyfriend's slightly anxious face. 

"Sorry. I didn't mean to snap. But you don't need to worry about me, Jeri," Robert chuckled. "I know I look like I want to murder- okay, I do- but this is just match spirit. I won't be reckless. If anything, you should be worried at this lot around us."

He gestured around. By the goalposts Manu was beside himself, hollering at the defenders he was currently doing drills with (they all looked somewhat scared, Manu in a temper was no joke). Fips and Mats were still arguing heatedly, David having to rush in and split things up before Fips lost the plot.  _Thomas_ of all people was now engaged in a shouting match with James. Nico was looking at his players as though he was unsure whether to feel dread of anticipation- perhaps this pent-up aggression would be a good thing?

"Jesus," Jerome said. "Forget Mats and Marco, we're going to kill each other before we get onto the pitch."

"It might be good," Robert suggested. "We might take out all our anger on Dortmund. Who knows? At this point we just need to get fucking playing."

He glanced around the stands of the Allianz Arena, knowing that soon it would be crammed with supporters who would only make the fire of the game grow stronger. They were in for a rough-and-tumble evening.

"Why do I feel like something's going to go wrong?" Jerome sighed.

"Jeri. It's Bayern versus Dortmund. Marco is on the opposite team. Frankly I'd be surprised if something went right."

Jerome grinned as he took neat hops across the ladder laid out on the turf. "Well, baby,  _you'd_ better hope something goes right today. You've got a lot of money on getting that hattrick."

"I'm not worried about that," Robert said lazily, following Jerome across the ladder and narrowly avoiding colliding with James, who had just been shoved by Thomas (Manu had been diverted from  _his_ yelling to rush forwards and break up the fight). "We all know I have those euros in my pocket."

"Oh, yeah?" Jerome said slyly. "Why don't we add another bet to the equation, then?"

Robert's eyes sparked. "What did you have in mind?"

"I'll replicate the Ukraine clearance," Jerome said confidently. "Another hundred euros."

"That's three hundred for me!" Robert said gleefully. Jerome looked indignant. "Sorry, baby. I mean, that's a really tough one, the odds are not in my favour. Sure. I'll put my finances on the line for this one."

"You're so  _annoying,_ " Jerome said sulkily. "I  _could_ do it, you know, Rob, you don't have to be mean."

"I know, I know!" Robert laughed, heading towards his boyfriend and wrapping him up in a hug, kissing him. "I'm only joking, sweetheart. I have absolute faith in you and I'd be happy to lose my money to you. You clear that ball right off the line, Jeri. Show us what you're made of, mmm?"

Jerome looked up at Robert through his eyelashes and smiled coyly, and Robert was suddenly far away from the Allianz Arena and the upcoming match. What even was football? Unfortunately, a voice like a foghorn broke him out of his pleasant reverie.

"BOATENG! LEWANDOWSKI!" Fips bellowed, in place of Nico, who frankly looked embarrassed at the concept of breaking the two lovers up. "ARE WE HERE TO WIN A GAME OF FOOTBALL OR COURT EACH OTHER? STOP BEING GAY AND GET BACK TO WARMING UP!"

The two of them broke apart abruptly as Fips turned back to his own drills with Mats, who was fuming about something or another. They shared a secret grin, and rushed off to get back to work. 

Manu had managed to drag Thomas and James apart and had banished James to go and do warm-ups with Leon. The midfielder did not dare argue when the goalkeeper had such a furious expression on his face.

"What are you  _doing,_ Thommy?" Manu demanded, as Thomas kicked at a cone. "We're due to start playing soon, how can you be behaving like this?"

"Behaving like  _what?_ " Thomas said angrily. "I'm not behaving like anything!  _He's_ the one salty because he's not starting, and he was the one making smart comments about me being up front!"

"This isn't the time!" Manu scolded him, though it wasn't the usual exasperated fondness. "Why don't you show him why you're starting on the pitch, during the game?"

"That's what I was planning to do!" Thomas yelled, and he stormed away from Manu. Manu watched him go without feeling a drop of remorse. Little spats like these weren't uncommon at all, especially in such a charged environment. It was more than likely that  by the time they were all in the changing room before the match everyone would have made up again and the team spirit would have returned. It was childish, but it wasn't unexpected.

Arjen was now alongside Manu, grinning at him sympathetically.

"Look at us," he said fondly, his eyes flickering around at the chaos, the laughter and the intensity of his team. "Same old Bayern. If the press saw our pre-training antics they'd have a field day."

"Yeah, well," Manu said grumpily. He didn't see the funny side of things at the moment- but Arjen was inexplicably smiling widely.

"Ah, come on, Manuel," Arjen said lightly. "We've been through the motions so many times, it'll all end up okay. It's a game versus Dortmund, after all. This is what makes us us- petty infighting, couples spats, Fips yelling. Wouldn't be the same without it. It's been this way for ten years. And we win. We always do."

Manu looked at Arjen somewhat suspiciously. The lines around the man's eyes had softened and he looked very wistful.

"Why are you sounding like that?" he demanded. Arjen looked startled.

"Sounding like what?" he asked hastily. Manu's eyes narrowed even more.

"You're sounding like... I don't know. You're reminiscing. Why are you reminiscing? We're about to engage in a potentially violent match with Dortmund. This is no time for sentimentality," Manu said staunchly.

Arjen bore an expression just like a certain Barcelona keeper. "No reason! I'm just not acting like a savage, is that so shocking?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm sorry," Arjen laughed. "I'll just go and engage in a tussle with Franck, why don't I, take him out before the game begins."

"Do," Manu said flatly. Arjen rolled his eyes, slapped Manu on the back and jogged off to actually join Franck. Manu watched him go, frowning to himself. Great. Yet another person acting weirdly.

 _Don't be a hypocrite,_ he thought to himself. He was feeling rather more angry and on-edge than usual himself, possibly because tonight had been another fitful night, and it was going to be a difficult game. He gazed up at the stands and then down at his gloves, scowling to himself.

 _Come on, Neuer,_ he thought crossly.  _Don't let the nightmares get you. It's a fucking dream and this is a fucking real game. Stop being so pathetic._ You  _become the nightmare._

***

"LISTEN UP!"

The ruckus in the Borussia Dortmund team bus had been building steadily by the second as it travelled towards the Allianz Arena, but there had been one conspiciously quiet figure in the front row next to Mario. Marco had been deep in thought for the entire journey, but as their obstacle drew nearer, it was time for the new Dortmund captain to speak up.

Favre looked like he wanted to tell Marco to sit down as the forward precariously climbed on top of his seat, but the sudden rapt attention of every player on the bus stopped him from doing so. It was rather enthralling how Marco could capture the attention of every one of his teammates. It looked like this was going to be a precursor to a potentially motivating speech, one that he probably wouldn't be able to replicate, so he decided to wait and see what Marco was going to say.

"Right!" Marco called, managing to balance himself after the coach shuddered a bit on the road. "No laughing, Kevin or Andre, this is serious. As your captain, I am honour bound to give you a speech which will fill your hearts with fire and enable you to charge forwards into the arms of dickheads!"

Favre sighed. Perhaps this wouldn't be enthralling after all.

"On a more serious note," Marco said, once the whoops and laughs had died down, and Mario had laughed fondly at his boyfriend's antics. "We're heading into the Allianz soon, and you know what that means. Ninety or so minutes against the constant knife in our sides. We're facing one of the best teams in the Bundesliga today."

Mario raised in his eyebrows in surprise at the fact Marco had actually praised Bayern.

"This isn't a normal game. I know we've done this song and dance with a league game every week, but this fixture is special," Marco said calmly. "Some of us are going to prove ourselves for the first time versus Bayern. Some of us are engaging in an age-old fight.  Today should be one of those games which shows us why we really play football. Not for the money, not for the modelling shots, not to get a good rating in FIFA. No, we play football for the passion that comes with getting the ball in the back of the net, for getting the tackle and making those split-second decisions which can decide any possible number of endings for the story we create. These games are stories and this is the name we're making for ourselves. This isn't just a fucking league game, okay? This is a fight and it's a fight every one of us is going to win, because we play this sport for these moments alone."

There was silence.

"But," Marco continued more loudly. "That doesn't mean we're going to be unfair. Coman is back on the bench for Bayern. He's been injured every time he steps onto the pitch. Nobody on this team is going to play to deliberately injure. Nobody on this team will ever play to deliberately injure. And I don't want us to try and humiliate Bayern, or disrespect them. That's not what we're about. We're professionals and we're not going to become a media display because of a scandal on the pitch. If we're going to win we're going to do it fair and square, playing good football. Understood?"

Nods.

Marco seemed to be aware that he had been a little too serious and thought-provoking, so he added quickly, "And we need to win so me and Mario can have victory sex and not disappointment sex."

Groans and sighs filled the bus and Favre, who had been watching fondly, decided speech-making was over. He ushered Marco back to his seat as Mario seized him around the neck to kiss him.

"Wow, Mar," Marco said, looking a little punch-drunk as Mario released him. "Not that I'm complaining, but what's the occasion?"

Mario beamed at him. "You. I'm so proud of you, Marco. You're such a passionate and amazing player."

"Yeah, we knew," Marco said dismissively, though Mario was sure the tips of his ears had reddened. 

"And all that talk about respecting Bayern! Was that you?" Mario teased.

Marco looked even more dismissive.

"I only said that so Lucien didn't jump down my throat," he said airily. "I'm still going to make Hummels want to retire when I see him."

***

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Mario Gom:** Come on bayern

 **Mario Gom:** Make this a night to remember so earlier today will be one to forget

 **Mario Gom:** Pls

 **Julian B:** 2-0

 **Mario Gom:** Stop

**Ron-Robert:**

****

**Julian B:** brandt and havertz

 **Julian B:** name a better duo

 **Benni:** Dortmund and losing 

 **Mesut:** be careful benni

 **Mesut:** don't wanna get jinxed

 **Benni:** No

 **Benni:** I'm in the stands rn and I'm so ready

 **Benni:** I'm going to watch Dortmund get crushed

 **Sami:** We'll see if mats and marco will live til the end of this, eh?

***

It was finally time to enter the dressing rooms, and funnily enough, Manu had been right in his prediction about Bayern's mood. Far from the snarling team they had been an hour or so ago, the  German champions looked positively chummy as they all laughed amongst themselves as they headed into the changing rooms. Thomas was impersonating Marco on the ball and Manu was assuring everybody that they were in safe hands if a penalty call occurred.

"Touch wood!" Robert said frantically, actually grabbing Manu's hand and pushing it against the wood of the bench.

"Oh, I can't wait to be three hundred and fifty euros richer," Thomas sighed. "The treble is inbound, boys, you're in safe hands."

"Don't touch wood," Robert said. He wanted his money.

Basti was pulling on his own kit without really saying anything to anyone. He wondered if Lukas was sprawled out on his sofa in London watching the game. Surely he was going to be watching Basti in this crucial game. He decided not to think about the times where Lukas would have been by his side during these games, and instead decided he would make several key passes and get in an assist for his boyfriend.

Leon was extremely rowdy, standing on the bench and informing Joshua, Serge and Niklas that he would be carrying the spirit of Schalke into Bayern so they would win the game today. Kingsley was delighted to be on the bench again- especially as he might receive potential minutes. Mats, on the other hand, looked like he had lockjaw as he got dressed by Jerome.

Benni had quietly told him to annihilate Dortmund before they had split off, but he had also squeezed the man's elbow and told him, ' _you'll be great_ '. Mats hoped this would be true.

Jerome noticed his silence and smiled, rolling his eyes.

"Don't worry, Hummels, you'll have time to show up Reus in just a bit," he promised. "I'll even let you get the clearance if the occasion arrives."

"'Let' me?" Mats countered. "You'll be lucky to get a single highlight while I'm on the pitch."

"That's the spirit," Jerome chuckled. "This looks like it'll be less  _der Klassiker_ and more  _Mats vs Marco._ That'll be the real derby for every German player watching."

"I'll give them a good show," Mats said confidently.

In the other changing rooms, Marco seemed to be expressing the same sentiment. He was, most unusually, the first person dressed out of the Dortmund team, and he was pacing up and down on the spot, rubbing his knuckles. In a bit he would be marching out into the lights of the Allianz Arena at night for a highly charged game. 

"When I see Hummels," he said threateningly to Mario, who rolled his eyes just like Jerome had. "I swear. Not even just him. Lewandowski. That bastard. I'm going to show who the-"

"'Best forward in Europe really is', yes, honey, I know," Mario sighed. "On the other hand, I feel you. I'm going to lock horns with Muller all night. I'm getting those fifty euros."

Marco gave his boyfriend a weird look. "Alright... you enjoy those fifty euros. I'll enjoy twelve hundred."

"It's not about the  _money,_ it's the principle, I want to one up Muller!" Mario scolded him. "I want to watch his face distort as I zip a perfect pass into you and you convert it into a goal."

"Let's not get too hasty," Neven said from the side. "I'd like to one up Bayern just as much as you guys, but you're heavily jinxing things."

"Do what Lewy used to do," Kevin said, diving to touch the wood of the bench. Marco gave him a filthy look.

"No, that is  _not_ what we're going to do," he declared. "We don't do  _anything_ Lewandowski does in this team. Lewandowski is nothing to us."

"I sure hope so," Roman Weidenfeller said a little grimly. 

"What are you sounding like that for?" Marco demanded. "You'll save every shot on target, Roman, or I'll shoot  _you._ "

The benevolent captain patted the teammate he had just threatened to kill on the shoulder and darted off to have a last minute chat with Favre. Mario just sighed again.

After a while, it was finally time to head out to the tunnel. There was a rush of sound from the Dortmund players who practically stampeded to exit the changing rooms, but Marco stopped them by throwing his arm up. Everyone stopped, waiting for the overdramatic comment. Marco evidently seemed to be trying to think of one, but eventually he just yelled:

"AUF GEHT'S!" 

There were roars of approval and Dortmund headed out to meet their fate.

***

When the players filed into the tunnel, their heartrate was immediately elevated as the roars from the Allianz Arena poured through the walls. It felt like a cup final- the night was alive with excitement in München, with the fans in the stands (Benni sitting near the technical area) jumping up and down and cheering. The sound of banging drums already seemed to set the tempo for the upcoming game.

Bayern entered first, Fips in the lead. His expression was completely calm as he led the team into the tunnel, the chanting and pounding from the stadium not making a break in his quiet composure. On the other side of the spectrum, Thomas was grinning deliriously, hardly able to stay still. Robert's fingers were entangled with Jerome's as they walked in, both of them squeezing each other as hard as they could. Manu was in match mode, his eyes like lasers as they cut around the tunnel, pounding his fist into his gloves. Basti was staring ahead, his muscles tight with anticipation. Arjen looked just as ready for a match as he always did. Mats' jaw was clenched and he looked ready for war.

There was a stir amongst the players as Dortmund joined the tunnel shortly afterwards. Marco led the fray, his signature confident grin painted onto his face. When he walked alongside Mats, he stopped for a fleeting moment, and the two of them made eye contact. Fips watched Mats like a hawk, but the centre-back remained rigidly still, with his hands behind his back. Marco kept walking, again stopping by Robert to give him a filthy look, who gave him a grin in return, and high-fiving Jerome, Manu, Basti and giving a false curtsey to Fips. Mario winked at them all as he passed.

The two teams did not acknowledge each other after this brief walk up. They were no longer national teammates, they were enemies. The brief exchange of eye contact with Marco seemed to have bolstered Mats' confidence and he was now standing even taller than before.

Eventually, it became time for the teams to leave the tunnel. The home crowd went wild as Bayern marched onto the pitch, the ear-splitting noise resonating with all of the players, who felt emboldened. Bayern stood by their emblem and waited for Dortmund's approach. The away fans put on quite the show of appreciation for their team too- Marco looked around at the Allianz crowd and felt his smile grow bigger.

The time came for handshakes. This was the moment Fips had been dreading. Marco quite civilly shook hands with Manu and Jerome, but again, he stopped by Mats. It became apparent that the two of them were trying to break each other's hand, Marco hissing, ' _viel Glück, Hummels'_ while Mats muttered many expletives back. It was only when Mario nudged him that Marco continued. The cameras had probably caught every bit of the interaction. Marco also seemed to be squeezing Robert's hand overly hard. When he reached Fips, the right-back gave him a supremely unimpressed look which went blithely ignored by the Dortmund captain.

The chanting was growing louder by the second. It was approaching kick-off and the home side were to have the first touch. The Bayern players all exchanged looks as they got into position, all of them looking around at their fans to remind themselves of what they had to gain here. Benni was already at the edge of his seat watching his Mats get ready to play, a crazy grin on his face- oh, the atmosphere of big Bundesliga games!

And then, just like that, it was time. Benni grinned as kick-off began. It was time for Dortmund to get their comeuppance.

***

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Mesut:** uh guys

 **Mesut:** can dortmund pls win

 **Mesut:** we've just been making bets too

 **Julian D:** Who's for what

 **Mesut:** lukas says basti will get a key assist and score

 **Mesut:** bernd says that manu will make a penalty save

 **Mesut:** per says fips will get a 100% passing rate

 **Mesut:** i've put my money on marco getting a hattrick

 **Mesut:** sami's gone against that

 **Sami:** I'm for Lewandowski

 **Julian D:** Well it's started

 **Julian D:** Josh will be the super sub believe me

 **Julian D:** Let's go see this shitshow and see who's getting the cash

***

The match had begun, but it could've been a practice game for all the notice Basti took of his surroundings.

_One, two, three, four-_

He counted every step he took with the ball under his feet, the world around him slowly becoming a bubble. The fans, the lights, the roaring noise, it became nothing to him. It was the beginning of a match, it was time to enter the world of football. The only thing in the universe at that moment was Bastian Schweinsteiger and Thomas Muller, who had already weaved around Subotic and was waiting to receive the pass.

The first action of the match was completed and the fans acted like it was a goal. Thomas was in possession. Thomas was moving forwards, roaming in that open space he seemed to live in. Basti ran forwards to meet him. He was already boiling hot, the ground beneath his feet feeling like lava as he broke clear for Thomas to give him the pass-

The ball bounced between his feet and Basti took control. He was well aware of Subotic and Pisczek in the vicinity. Basti watched their approach, watched them converge on his space, limiting his options for the touch forward. He wasn't sure he could break through- it would be a risky giveaway The only option he had was to go backwards. He touched it back to David, who had been there for Basti should he need the assistance. The left-back seized the pass and instead of going forwards, passed over to Fips, who was now looking for his own way forwards.

" _MÜNCHEN, SCHALALA! MÜNCHEN, SCHALALA!"_

The fans chants, along with the pounding of the drums, were deafening. How many must be in the stadium right now? Seventy thousand? Eighty? The Allianz looked almost full and for good reason. It was a beautiful sight, illuminated for the night's game with the players all ready to perform in the show.

Fips had managed to pass to Leon. The midfielder demonstrated some pretty solid control of the ball and managed to navigate around Zagadou but unfortunately got tackled by Weigl, and Dortmund had their first touch on the ball.  Leon raced to try and retrieve the ball back from his national teammate, who gave him the tiniest shadow of a wink, but the ball left him in a pass to Kevin. The Dortmund fans had started revving up like a jumbo jet, their yellow and black shirts a relentless tide of noise.

Kevin passed onwards to Mario. Thomas, who had been roaming backwards without feeling a particular need to join the other red shirts converging on him, swore inwardly.  _Get him off the ball-_

Mats! The centreback managed to intercept Mario's ball into Marco. Benni, from his spot in the stands, gave a triumphant roar. The secondary battle had begun- Mats had gotten the first touch and Marco looked ready to kill.

Mats managed to pass before Marco could reach him and Jerome took the ball. Robert, who had not yet gotten any action, raced to receive his diagonal pass, and received the love with it. Robert often had the superstitious thought that his first touches on the ball would determine how the match would go for him. He took three neat ones before he managed to set forwards properly. He grinned a little to himself.

Subotic and Piczek weren't going to let him get away with any sort of maneuver forwards but luckily Robert's hold-up play was impeccable. Arjen was ahead of him and Robert gave him a pretty beautiful pass. The Dutchman whom Dortmund so loathed looked almost like a dancer as he charged ahead, Franck ready for him on the right flank. 

Arjen weaved through Hakimi and now the yellow and black shirts were moving into a defensive position. Sancho barrelled to try and dispossess, but only just managed to miss his challenge. Robert raced forwards, making himself available alongside with Franck in the box. Arjen was pursued to the side, he needed to initiate the cross now-

And he did, the ball soared into the box and Robert sprinted like a man possessed to reach it, his legs pumping to the beat of the drums and the screams of the fans. Unfortunately, he wasn't quite able to position himself correctly and the ball went wide of the mark, going out for a goal kick.

The fans whooped and cheered what had been a wonderful effort anyway. Roman jogged off to get the ball and Robert let himself get patted on the shoulder by his teammates. He made eye contact with his Jeri, who pounded his heart and mouthed,  _close!_ It had been.

Dortmund weren't going to let chances run away from them, however. Roman booted out the ball practically to the other end of the pitch and, there was Mario to receive it. Thomas swore again as Bayern all sprinted to the other end as fast as they could- the number of red shirts was seemingly sparse. Luckily they managed to fill the gaps because Mario had a little struggle with controlling the ball. He managed to pass, however, and who else received it but one Marco Reus?

Cold fear filled the heart of everyone on the home side, but especially Benni, who had his hands pressed across his face. _Surely_ not. Manu was getting ready to move into action and Fips was rushing to try and get the dispossesion. Marco drifted with the ball and managed to avoid Jerome- he too took the shot-

But Manu managed to palm it away, with a slightly awkward roll. But it wasn't out of play. It was Marco and Mats in the race for the ball before it went out and unfortunately, Mats just wasn't fast enough. Benni clapped a hand over his mouth as Marco stole the ball before it crossed the line and grinned at Mats, whose face flashed with fury. Mats was unable to block the pass that followed and Kevin received it-

Basti was there to save the day, this time intercepting a potential cross in from Kevin into Sancho and regaining possession. What the central midfielder didn't know as he knocked the ball down the field, Dortmund exposed on the counter, was that a certain man in London was bellowing his name at that very moment, dancing up and down.

" _DORTMUND, LALALA, DORTMUND, LALALA-_ " the fans sang, unperturbed by their side's loss of possesssion. Basti passed to Thomas, and it was Mario this time who swore. The Raumdeuter was getting a little worryingly close to the box-

"NO, LEWANDOWSKI!" Marco bellowed, he couldn't help it. He was running as fast as he could to reach Dortmund's box. "NEVEN!"

It was a one-on-one duel. The exposed counter had left Dortmund players still racing to reach Robert, who was in the box. Robert was facing off his former teammate, and that, unfortunately, was Subotic's disadvantage- Robert knew how he played.

Robert had broken through. Jerome was yelling as he took the shot-

"ROMAN!" Marco practically could have kissed the man on the spot. To Robert's fury, Weidenfeller had just managed to stop the ball and had quickly thrown it out to Sancho, who had rejoined the fray.  There was a huge number of groans from Bayern's side but screams from Dortmund's.

It was turning into an end to end first half. Marco retrieved the ball once again and managed to outpace Leon, but David was there and David was  _hard_ to stop. Marco had to give the ball to Mario who was now being practically hounded by Mats. He eventually had to try and boot the ball out and to Marco's chagrin, Jerome received it.

Once again, the counter proved to be the downfall and Marco was running faster than he ever had in his life to try and receive Jerome's pass before it reached Franck. He  _just_ failed. It was no matter, all Marco had to do was dispossess-

But no, Franck had crossed to Robert once more-

"THIRD TIME LUCKY!" Jerome screamed from where he was roaming in the middle of the pitch.

He was correct! The aerial ball was received by Robert who practically dived forwards to head it in. Marco could have collapsed as the ball hit the net, just slipping past Roman's fingers.

Benni roared.

The noise was deafening around the stadium- it had exploded from the moment the ball had bounced off Robert's head.

" _OH, OH, OH, OH, OH!"_

"TOR!" the announcer bellowed, over the screaming of the home crowd as Robert did not celebrate particularly hard, but his teammates leapt on top of him. Jerome raced across the length of the pitch to reach him, slamming into him. Robert seized Jerome around the waist and Jerome grabbed his face. Mats was dancing around, his tongue waggling at Marco, who took several deep breaths.

_1-0 is nothing._

_"ROBERT!_ " the announcer yelled.

" _LEWANDOWSKI!_ " the crowd answered.

" _ROBERT!_ "

" _LEWANDOWSKI!_ "

Mario's expression was sour but he gave Marco a look that said,  _not over._ Marco nodded grimly, the heat rushing to his head. He was  _furious,_ but there was plenty of time. So far possession had been pretty equal and all they had to do was press more aggressively. 

Robert's eyes travelled to meet his. He didn't look  _smug,_ per se, but there was a challenging spark in his eyes. The race for the hat-trick had begun. On the other side of things, Mats was wearing a disgustingly self-satisfied smirk as he quirked his eyebrow outrageously.

_Just you wait, Hummels._

The action resumed. The Dortmund fans, not at all silenced by Bayern's lead, roared even louder as Sancho rocketed down the pitch. Marco could have kissed the man as he danced around the Bayern defence, but he ran into trouble with David. Marco rushed to make himself available as Sancho was pressured by the Austrian wingback. He received the pass and Witsel was there for him-

"Hello, Reus," a familiar voice snarled, and there was Mats in front of him, trying to tackle. In the fiery heat of the game all they could do was swear at each other- Marco hurled every bit of colourful language he had to offer as Mats almost chased him out of play. Marco managed to get past him but Mats was still pursuing him to get the dispossession. 

"Fucking bastard!" Marco shouted, eventually conceding control and having to give a clumsy pass that fortunately Witsel received. He sped up to outpace Mats, who was relentlessly covering his mark, but eventually Mats' focus dropped for a split-second-

"HUMMELS!" Manu bellowed.

Another opportunity for Dortmund! Marco's foot just managed to reach the cross but he was charging towards the ball before it went out of play. Manu was rushing for it as well. There were a few moments of chaos as Manu dived to catch it- and Marco couldn't control his momentum. Manu realised what was going to happen too late but couldn't pull out of the dive in time. Marco went flying over Manu's body, in a tangle of limbs.

"NEIN!" Manu yelled, as the whistle blew, and Dortmund's fans exploded. "NEIN, NEIN, DAS WAR NICHT IN DAS FELD-"

Marco got back to his feet as Bayern began to protest, Mats looking horrified at his momentary lapse of focus, and Manu was furious, insisting the collision hadn't been in the box. Benni had his hands pressed against his face, surely, after not a few minutes of Bayern scoring the lead, Dortmund wouldn't equalise?

The referee was unsympathetic to Manu's rage. In fact, it looked as though he was about to get a yellow card for dissent. Jerome had to hold Manu's arm and pull him back, telling him to give up his protests- the referee was in one mind and one mind only. Penalty to Dortmund.

"What were you doing?" Manu yelled at Mats, as he stormed back to his goalposts. Mats just shook his head, struck dumb at what was possibly cosmological karma. Marco had to strongly resist the urge to stick his middle finger up- he didn't want the referee to see it and book him.

He was the one who was going to take the penalty. Mario gave him a squeeze and an excited look and some others patted him on the back. They were putting faith in their captain for this one, and he was going to deliver. Manu's expression was murderous as he stood between his posts, glaring at Marco- there was no semblance of a friend in him. It was somewhat intimidating but also somewhat amusing- Marco knew they would laugh about this when it was over. 

He looked down at the ball, and then at Manu, who was getting ready to make the reaction, leaping up and down against his post.

" _MARCO REUS! MARCO REUS! MARCO REUS!_ " the crowd roared.

Marco took a deep breath.  _Your moment. Your goal. Your first etch on the chalkboard. I hope you're watching, Lewandowski._

He ran forwards, his body angled in a way that made it almost certain he was going to the right. He didn't. He smashed the ball into the left corner in a gorgeous penalty, sending Manu the wrong way, and just like that, Dortmund were equal. 

"SCHEIßE!" Manu shouted, slamming his foot against his post as the Dortmund players converged on their captain, in raptures as they all tried to cling onto him. Mario was at the centre of the team hug, and under the cover of all the players jumping over them, Marco kissed him hard, delirious.

Benni sat back in his seat, his hand over his mouth, his voice hoarse from swearing. His phone was going off like crazy in his pocket, but he wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention.

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Mesut:** STILL IN THE BET SAMI

 **Sami:** Shit

 **Jonas:** What a penalty!

 **Julian D:** **I'm not liking this**

 **Mario Gom:** Fuck come on Bayern

 **Miro:** Thomas is going to lose everything

 **Leroy:** manu looks SCARY

 **Lukas:** pay up bernd

 **Bernd** : :(

There was no time to lose. Just after they had gained the lead, Bayern had lost it again. Marco turned around to find Robert after his penalty and held up two fingers to symbolise one hundred euros, and then turned to Mats, grinning, and held up ten fingers to symbolise one thousand.

The game resumed. Flustered by the fact they had so quickly lost their leverage, Bayern were somewhat clumsy at first, letting Sancho rip past Basti. Just as it looked like he was going to reach the box,  however, Fips met him in a practically perfect challenge and the ball went back to Bayern- Jerome seized it. He pounded forwards somewhat, his face a mask of determination, and lobbed it towards Leon. Leon managed to control things very nicely and passed off to Franck. Franck demonstrated good pace as he charged towards the box, but Subotic's approach meant he had to either change approach or get ballsy. He opted for the latter and got dispossessed trying to get forwards.

Subotic passed it to Hakimi who passed it to Weigl. Luckily, Basti was there with a challenge and Dortmund's possession was gone again. The constant switching of control was almost dizzying to watch- sometimes Bayern fans roared, sometimes Bayern fans roared. Benni was neither but he roared louder than the both sides when Bayern got a touch- to  _hell_ with Dortmund.

Mario made a very nice tackle on Thomas, a third internal battle on the pitch. Thomas didn't manage to return to him in time, the ball went sailing towards Sancho. This time it was Sancho who sped towards goal, it was so close-

"MY JERI!" Robert's scream almost blew Piczek's, who was roaming near him, ear off. Jerome had swept in to make a clearance and it soared out of play for a corner. It had been a remarkable reaction from Jerome- though not quite on par with the Ukraine clearance.

Dortmund prepped to take a corner, but it ultimately came to nothing, with Mats managing to, of all things, head the ball in the other direction. Leon took the ball and passed it to Fips, who passed it up to Basti. It was looking to be a wonderful counter and Robert was in motion again. Marco sensed danger instantly and once again was yelling at the top of his voice as he ran-

Basti knocked the ball over to Robert- a beautifully sharp pass- it was still in the air- was he going to go for the header-

"ROB!" Jerome screamed.

Robert _volleyed_ it- it was such a powerful shot- Roman's _fingertips_ were so  _close_ - IT WAS IN!

Once again, Bayern were up! Marco howled in anger as once again Bayern swept into celebrate and the Allianz Arena exploded. It was a goddamn brace for Lewandowski, at the twenty fifth minute! Jerome had once again soared across the pitch and seized his boyfriend, who was grinning deliriously.

Benni's phone was now in a constant state of vibration.

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Sami:** ROBERT

 **Mario Gom:** LEWANDOWSKI

 **Sami:** ROBERT

 **Mario Gom:** LEWANDOWSKI

 **Julian D:** WHAT A VOLLEY

 **Lukas:** MY BOYFRIEND WITH THE ASSISSSSSSSSSSTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

 **Mesut:** unsubscribe

Dortmund were urgent to get things back to motion. Mats, who had not made a single smug face at Marco in the time between his error and Robert's second goal, was suddenly looking alive again, although he was careful not to be too audacious, in case karma decided to punish him once more.

Sancho was channelling his inner Mbappe and looked like a yellow and black blur as he streaked aggressively past the defenders. Manu rushed off his line to fill the gap opened and managed to tackle him, lobbing it out again for Basti. Subotic and Piczek covered all directions and Basti had to pass backwards again to Fips. Fips' expression was calculating as Dortmund rushed at him and he managed to make a neat pass out to David, who tried to break forwards to approach Bayern's third-

But Subotic barrelled into him with a tackle. It was looking to become like a game of tennis, and the ball was now in Dortmund's court. Subotic passed to Sancho and once again the kid was firing along. Jerome's interception went missed and Mats couldn't reach him-

But Manu saved once more, though it was  _dangerous._ Fips took the resulting pass and thought that he was going to have to get the ball back to the other side of the pitch. Marco was not making things easy whatsoever, he was enraged at the second conceded. Fips knew he couldn't outpace Marco but he was worried about his positioning for a pass, his teammates weren't in a good place-

His moment of indecision costed him and Marco managed to seize the ball. Gnashing his teeth, he turned in the opposite direction so fast Fips barely realised he had moved for a moment. The Bayern captain had lost their mini-duel but he was not at all the type to give it up. The two captains and die Mannschaft stalwarts raced, while Mats, David, Jerome and Basti rushed in for assistance-

Manu was getting ready-

"MARIO!" Marco bellowed. The midfielder was ready, Marco couldn't hold onto possession for long, not with Mats looking for the clearance-

Mario took the ball, allowing Marco to trudge in deeper-

"NO, REUS!" Mats yelled, marking Marco while Jerome marked Kevin and Fips Weigl. Mario's lips were captured between his teeth as he passed-

Thomaswas surging forwards-

Marco dived free of Mats and towards Thomas-

There was the ball-

Marco went for the most audacious shot possible. He was almost one hundred percent sure it wasn't going to go in. He had hit it so hard, and the ball travelled so quickly- he was sure it was wide of the mark, he almost didn't want to look, he shut his eyes tightly-

"FUCK!" the sound of Mats's furious scream and a resounding chorus of jubilated cheers told him his answer as to what had happened. Marco opened his eyes as several bodies collided into him and arms wrapped around him and Benni closed his eyes as his phone exploded-

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Julian D:** BAYERN WHAT THE FUCK

 **Mario Gom:** BAYERN WHAT THE FUCK

 **Sami:** BAYERN WHAT THE FUCK

 **Mesut:** THIS IS THE BRIGHTEST TIMELINE

 **Jonas:** THIS GAME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Julian B:** THIS IS UNBELIEVABLE WHAT THE HELL

 **Leroy:** 2-2 ANYONE CAN GET THE HATTRICK

 **Sami:** LEWANDOWSKI YOU'D BETTER DAMN WELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The bet was looking a lot less concrete for Robert at the moment, and he was hugely worried (not only about the bet, though, he also wanted his team to win). 2-2! It was absolutely deafening in the Allianz Arena and Nico Kovac, who had gone through several stages of being during the first half of the match, covered his mouth with his hands before gritting his teeth.

Bayern looked a lot more powerful this time as they restarted, the realisation that this game could go either way provoking them to seize the day. Mats, to Basti, to Jerome, to Mats, up to Robert. Robert to Arjen, being pressed heavily by Subotic. Arjen darting forwards, that ferocious calm on his face that players knew well-

He passed to Franck. Arjen's wing partner for ten years got the ball and was about to make a surge forwards but was instead involved in a tangle-up with Witsel. It wasn't an intentional foul, with Witsel losing momentum on the slide-tackle, but it was a nasty one. Franck fell forwards hard and roared in pain, clutching his ankle, which had been studded. Marco, who had been watching from a distance, jogged forwards immediately to see if the man was okay. A yellow card was whipped out and Witsel was booked but Franck could not stand up again.

Bayern players joined the fray. Thomas looked deeply worried as he muttered a few words to Robert, who shook his head in return. Witsel was apologising to Franck, whose face was contorted and sweaty. Medical officials were heading towards the scene, checking Franck's leg. Marco had been through this many times before and felt for Franck. He did not feel angry with Witsel, however- he knew it had been an accident. Franck knew it too.

It became apparent that Franck could not continue. Nico made a face, the referee was signalling that a substitution was to be made. 

"Coman!" he called purposefully, turning towards Kingsley, who was at the edge of his seat on the bench, his hands pressed against his face with shock at what had happened to Franck. "Get to warming up."

Kingsley leapt to his feet as play resumed, anticipation but also regret pounding through him as Nico went to consult the officials about the upcoming substitution for the last ten minutes of the first half. Cameras were swivelling around to the bench as Kingsley got to jogging, as Franck limped off being supported by the medics. It seemed that Bayern would never have an uninjured winger.

The occurrence of yet another injury to Bayern seemed to dampen spirits. Bayern continued to keep up a relatively powerful offence, and Dortmund a good defence, but it seemed like the second-half would be drawing to a halt without any more action. Spirits were roused, however, as the substitution board went up (though Franck was already off) and Kingsley stood by the sidelines.

The winger, for the first time in a few months, was actually on the pitch at the Allianz Arena again! There were approving roars as he received his welcome-back chants from the supporters, and Marco smiled encouragingly at him as he jogged onto the pitch and applauded the home crowd. Arjen patted his shoulder with a grin and his teammates all gave him a reassuring shout. 

The return of Kingsley seemed to start up the momentum again. Bayern were reminded how much they had missed the winger as he immediately set the ball rolling by taking a pass from Thomas and stampeding across the turf with the ball beneath his feet. Dortmund responded to the renewed force by Bayern by throwing up their shields, but not a few minutes after Kingsley had come on Roman was diving to stop a shot and Subotic had to make a hasty clearance that resulted in a corner.

David jogged off to take the corner. He swung the ball into the box, where Leon leapt up high, showing how threatening he was in the air with a gorgeous header. Unfortunately, Roman managed to bat it away and Dortmund were off again. 

The action went like this for the last few minutes of the second half, and the tension was palpable in the six minutes added stoppage time. There was yet another chance for Marco, adding another gasp in the battle between him and Robert for the completed hattrick, but Manu was there to stop things in its tracks. Eventually the whistle blew, signalling halftime, and the seventy thousand fans in the Allianz Arena along with the millions worldwide, sat back in their seats to take a breath. Pundits everywhere were raving about  _match of the season, a game to remember-_ but there were still forty five minutes left.

In the changing rooms, two couples were struggling to break apart. Robert was clinging to Jerome and kissing him so hard he probably wouldn't be able to move his mouth for the next forty five minutes. In a similar vein, Marco and Mario were gripping onto each other seemingly without the intention of letting go.

It was not all fun and games, however. Kovac had words to say to his men and they involved lapses in the defence (Mats looked away), the dangers of losing one's temper (Manu looked at Kovac straight on) and giving away the ball somewhat cheaply (Fips scowled). Following this stern little speech, however, his face relaxed.

"However, if we keep playing how we did in those last few moments, we should be fine," he told them firmly. "Coman, great work out there. Same with you, Schweinsteiger. Lewandowski, faultless performance. We'll win it for Franck, who's with the medics right now. The night is ours for the taking.

"JA!"

The Dortmund pep talk was rather less profound. 

"I WILL GET THE HAT TRICK FIRST!" Marco roared, and his buoyed team screamed their approval.

When the teams returned to the pitch, they were positively vibrating in anticipation for the second half. Marco continually winked violently at Mats while Mats tried not to do anything violently back. Manu, who had not quite forgiven Marco for the first penalty and the second goal conceded, completely ignored him. Jerome and Fips were not particularly happy with the man either. Only Robert engaged with Marco.

"This one could go many ways," he warned. "Be careful, Reus, I'm on the move."

"Move off the pitch," Marco retorted. "Mario's going to assist me in my final goal and these two motherfuckers over here are going to be rich, rich, rich!"

These words did not inspire Thomas- as far as he was concerned, he was not going to be 'rich, rich, rich' the way things were going, having not scored a single goal yet. He was now seriously reconsidering his investments. Sami and Mesut, from Italy and England alike, were also wondering if  _they_ had made the right decision- things could so easily go either way.

When the team strolled back onto the pitch, the fans were screaming once more. It was almost incredible how much energy they had, as did the author of the match that was taking place. It inexplicably started with a bang once more.

Right off the bat things started off with a Dortmund maneuver. Sancho, who had been relatively quiet in the first half, despite his occasional penetrating runs, did some pretty incredible dribbling around Basti, who looked disgruntled as he was surpassed. Sancho smashed the ball over towards Marco, and Robert, who had been jogging up towards the other end of the pitch, unsure if he needed to intervene, wondered if things were going to fall apart within minutes-

But there was Manu, coming off of his line to snatch the ball away from Marco. There was an inordinate amount of aggression in the way he was playing, and that meant he looked even more dangerous than usual. He was clearly taking the two goals absolutely to heart. Manu lobbed it over to the other side of the pitch where Thomas received the ball. Thomas had not been particularly involved in this game so far, considering all the bets he had made about what he was going to do in it, but he was making a dangerous run now. Arjen and Kingsley were both there for support, but Thomas decided to take the shot-

But the fates were against him. Thomas scowled as Roman palmed his effort away and it went to fucking Subotic. The Raumdeuter had come close to maybe returning to the fray and giving himself a fighting chance in this hat-trick battle. Robert, in the meanwhile, looked like he was going for the winner.

Once again, Dortmund got dispossessed just as they were nearing the box. This time it was Manu who swept out again to knock the ball away from Sancho. Marco wanted to tell him that in a game of football the objective of the opposition was to score against the keeper, and that he didn't have to hold a grudge against Marco for doing his damn job. Unfortunately, Manu clearly didn't want to hear anything like that.

He passed over to Fips, once again starting a chain from Bayern. It wasn't looking particularly solid from Dortmund's side of the equation. Marco was changing directions so rapidly he felt almost dizzy. Mario was practically circling the midfield, trying to get space where Basti was denying him it. Fips passed down to Kingsley who beat  _Sancho_ in a foot race. The fans were screaming- was it going to be another- _For the love of fuck-_

But they were saved! Arjen had received the pass and went for the shot. Marco could have cried as Piczek managed to block the ball beautifully- it had looked like a precursor to one of Arjen's left footed missiles. There was the small matter that Bayern now had an advantage in the form of the corner, but they would burn that bridge when they came to it- right now, in fact.

While the referee was focused on David, who was taking the corner, Marco gave Robert some serious verbal abuse, firmly assuring the 'filthy club traitor' that Marco would be the one winning the bet. Robert merely just gestured at the corner that was about to take place, saying, "If you want that to be true, you'd better defend this well."

This was a good point.

"Get out of it, Reus!" Mats snapped, as Marco practically smothered him with his marking.

David was preparing to take the corner. Dortmund had a vague idea of how Bayern set up their corners through experience and watching videos, and surely enough, most players knew which mark to cover. It looked like their tactic was going to be to lob it in the box and see if they got lucky. Marco checked to make sure Robert was being firmly marked while Roman bellowed some orders from his posts. 

Finally, David moved into action. Marco's stomach leapt but he made sure to keep his eye on Mats as the Bayern players darted around the box. The ball came soaring towards them, still in the air. Someone was going to go for a header, maybe he could go for the clearance-

"NO, HUMMELS!" Marco cried suddenly, as Mats leapt in the air. Marco leapt alongside him, desperate to get to it first-

Mats' forehead collided with the ball, and every Bayern player paused in their tracks, watching the ball-

Go just wide of the mark.

"HA!" Marco's fear was suddenly replaced by a most unprofessional scream of mirth and Benni was screaming every swear word under the sun. Mats was pounding the ground with his fist and his teammates looked like they were going to cry. The fans were all complaining but Dortmund fans were all roaring their pleasure.

Thomas had now lost two hundred euros.

In Benni's pocket, the non Bayern or Dortmund die Mannschaft members were having a field day.

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Leroy:** I SCREAMED

 **Jonas:** Oh no I feel so bad for him!!

 **Mesut:** HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA

 **Sami:** LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **Julian D:** This is so sad

 **Mario Gom:** Feelsbadman

 **Toni:** As soon as I started watching Hummels missed a header yikes

The ball was going out for the goal kick. Mats looked utterly dejected as his teammates patted his shoulder, and it took every shred of resolve Marco had not to dance around hurling expletives at him. If he was being entirely honest, he did feel a bit sorry for Mats. But only a bit. It wasn't as if he  _wanted_ the man to score.

Roman sent the ball out again and Dortmund were off again, emboldened by Mats's header miss. Marco had to quickly return to being focused, but fortunately it was second nature to him- he knew when to be serious and when not to be, contrary to popular belief. Thomas seemed to have taken the loss of his second bet extremely to heart and he was now pounding across the pitch to try and get things moving for Bayern again. 

In fact, it was him who barrelled into Kevin, not letting the ball get anywhere near the box. He had not a lot of time left to get some goals for himself. When he had the ball beneath his feet, he made his way forwards, even  _dribbling_ a little. Unfortunately, he had little time to retain possession, he had to pass it out again almost grudgingly to Robert.

 _Shit._ Robert was sprinting up the pitch once more, and Subotic and Piczek were struggling to handle things. Witsel failed to initiate a challenge and the whole red-shirted gang of bastards were now in Dortmund's box once more.

"Listen," Mats said between sharp breaths, as he and Marco charged after Robert with Jerome cheering him on as he ran too. "About those one thousand euros-"

"You can send them to me through my bank account," Marco reassured him, his eyes not leaving Robert, who had passed to Fips just so he could move further forwards without losing possession-

" _One thousand five hundred._ "

Marco didn't have time to agree with this added money. Fucking Lewandowski was in the box, it was two-on-one, Robert passed it out yet again to make sure Bayern didn't lose possession. Basti received the ball, going for the hold-up motion, letting Robert get into a better position- Marco was sure everything was going to go wrong-

" _LEWANDOWSKI, LEWANDOWSKI, LEWANDOWSKI!"_

"NEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!"

Marco actually fell to the ground as Robert took a left-footed shot that went crashing past Roman's outstretched hands. Every single person in the stadium was beside themselves with either fury or explosive joy, as Robert Lewandowski completed his hat-trick, sealing Thomas, Mesut and Marco's fates all in one maneuver, as well as saving Mats from humiliation.

Benni didn't have time to check  _bayern_ _won the bundesliga_ over his yelling, but he did have an idea of what was going on.

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Sami:** LEWANDOWSKIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

 **Mesut:** MARCO FOR THE LOVE OF FUCK

 **Julian D:** 3-2!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Miro:** Thomas has lost 100 euros

 **Mesut:** SO HAVE I

 **Toni:** Whom is surprised

 **Jonas:** Jerome will be so proud!

 **Mario Gom:** Feelsgoodman

 _Okay, who gives a fuck, it's one hundred euros, Reus,_ Marco told himself, changing tack and trying to act calm instead of enraged, getting back to his feet as Jerome acted like a madman nearby. _There's a bigger bet in the equation. All you have to do is get past Hummels and score two more. Or assist Mario. You can do this. Fuck Lewandowski. FUCK LEWANDOWSKI-_

Thomas, gloomy instead of furious, was well aware of the potential further dangers to his wallet- if Marco scored, that was yet another hat trick completed over him and if Mario assisted it, that was another one hundred and fifty euros gone. He really needed to get into the game and get his own work in.

 _One thousand five hundred euros and three points,_ Marco chanted in his head as Dortmund started moving frantically to get the equaliser, they couldn't let the gap grow bigger. This back and forth-game needed to end, they needed another two goals, it was looking to be a gigantic order, because Kingsley fucking Coman and Robert Lewandowski existed. Fortunately, Subotic and Piczek seemed spurred to greater heights by three goals conceded, as did Roman, who had predicted correctly that Robert would be more than 'nothing' to Dortmund. Roman pulled off a superb save and Piczek decently blocked an incoming Arjen.

The Dortmund fans were chanting their team on, urging them to greater heights. The Bayern fans were also clamouring for more- a one goal difference was not enough. Dortmund could well and easily equalise once more. Marco wasn't quite sure if he wanted to be the one who equalised against Manu, however- he might end up surviving the match, but not til the end of the day.

Benni's reputation as the calm one in him and Mats's relationship had quite flown out of the window over the course of the match. If anyone from the national team had been sitting by him during the course of this game, they would've been beyond belief. Benni's passionate hatred for Dortmund had fuelled him to not stop bellowing for about an hour. He was bellowing right now.

"MATS, COME ON! DON'T LET HIM MOVE FORWARDS!"

It was getting almost comical how quickly Dortmund returned to Bayern's box after they had conceded a goal. It was like being in a permanent state of deuce in a tennis match. Fips cleared the ball out to the midfield again, but nobody was there to receive it but Witsel. Witsel passed it into Mario who got blocked by Manu, but the rebound returned to Dortmund once more as Subotic looked to find a break through the crowd of red defenders. Thomas dispossessed him but immediately got tackled once more by Weigl. The ball was bouncing around absurdly, Bayern getting increasingly more frustrated-

Mario took the ball from Mats's feet. The midfielder, whom neither side of the Allianz Arena seemed to know how to react to, was wearing an expression of great concentration. It was a face that preceded doom and destruction.

But he had a dilemma. To take the shot or to not take the shot? The way things were, he probably had a good chance at goal. But there were other matters to take into consideration. There was the fact that Mats and Jerome were in good positions to make a block, and Manu was difficult to get past. There was also the fact that Marco needed to complete his hattrick, but he wasn't in a great position at the moment. He only had a few seconds to make up his mind. 

In the end, it was the roars of Dortmund fans that made him make his mind up. These people who were watching were Marco's. They were his followers and he did so much for them. Marco was the most passionate about his club and it was only right that he received the pass that could potentially turn into a goal. If Favre, Jurgen or even Pep, had known that Mario had factored in sentimentality into his decision for a potential crucial assist, they would have flayed Mario alive, but Mario didn't care. It was his time at both Bayern and Dortmund alike that had shown him that sometimes wild acts of passion combined with chance could make incredible things happen.

He turned his foot towards Marco. Jerome looked surprised, there was no way Mario could take a shot from that position. Mats understood immediately. He was already running towards Marco, breathless horror on his face.

Marco looked startled. In the fraction of a second it took for the ball to leave Mario's feet, he seemed unable to comprehend why he was receiving the ball. But he moved forwards anyway, trusting in the look in Mario's eyes-

Mats was hurtling towards him-

Marco looked him straight in the eye, and then moved his gaze to Manu, who was half-poised, not quite expecting a shot-

Thomas 's eyes widened-

The ball reached Marco's feet-

Audacity, it would take pure audacity to take this shot-

But audacity was Marco Reus's middle name. Mats had backed up, the words  _one thousand five hundred euros_ and  _three points_ echoing in his head just as they had done previously in Marco's. As the ball left Marco's foot, he rushed forwards, begging for luck to rain down on him and grant him the clearance.

It didn't. His foot just missed and it went past Manu's fingers.

There was pandemonium.

"MEIN GOTT!" Thomas reacted to the goal just as badly as Manu did. The German goalkeeper roared with fury as the Dortmund fans screamed their disbelief and joy for the third time that evening and Benni sank into his seat and covered his face with his hands. Meanwhile:

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Mesut:** A BIT FUCKING LATE

 **Jonas:** GAME OF THE SEASON

 **Toni:** WHAT THE FUCK DOES REUS DRINK TO MAKE HIM SO FUCKING JAMMY

 **Miro:** POOR THOMAS

 **Leroy:** POOR MANU

 **Julian D:** GOD FUCKING DAMMIT BAYERN

 **Mario Gom:** BIG L

He might as well have scored the winning goal in the Champions League. Mario's arms felt like heaven. The sixth goal of the match and Marco's hattrick felt as momentous as Pele's in the 1970 World Cup. Robert sighed, his hard work felt almost undone. Bayern were walking like zombies, holding onto their heads. Mats was on the ground, with Jerome patting his shoulder. Fips looked like he had drunk sour milk. Thomas looked despairing. Manu was utterly and completely livid, berating his defenders to no end.

Nico Kovac sighed.

Surely enough, the substitute board went up for the last twenty minutes of the match, and it was Mats off for Niklas. Marco almost felt sorry to see him go. But it didn't stop him from holding up ten fingers and waving them enticingly as he went.

It seemed like fate had perfectly calculated things to make Thomas and Mats lose everything and Robert win everything, as well as secure Marco's ego. It was a game that would not go forgotten for a long time. Though the rest of the game seemed to fritter away without another goal, the pounding and the screaming lasted til the dying moments. It was a battle, not a game, and there would be no winner to this race yet. 

There  _were_ clear losers, of course- but to the rest of the world, it didn't matter. It had been another game to remember, and for die Mannschaft, a most wonderful resource for future roasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thomas lost every single penny, but pretty predictable outcome, heh? ;P things will be wrapped up next time, sorry for the abrupt bad ending???
> 
> i know it might be weird to have them all fighting before a match, but honestly before big games we're all yelling at each other and insulting each other and it kind of motivates us :P
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed this one, even tho it's far too long! i hope i was able to live up to any expectations! what did u guys think? fantastisch schlimm schlecht ok? once again, thank you so fucking much for all your support and love! this fic would still be at chapter 2 without it! 
> 
> and to round things off, our euros qualifying group is pretty decent, barring the FUCKING NETHERLANDS. I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF THEM.
> 
> danke jeder and until next time!


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy guys! i'm in a great mood today, team sheets for the tournament are out and i'm our number 1 keeper! i'm pretty damn p s y c h e d!
> 
> here's a little cool-down chapter after the intense and overly long last chapter :) hope u enjoy!

"Fuck off! Immer der gleiche Scheiß!"

Manu looked remarkably like Oliver Kahn as he stormed into the changing rooms following the post-match events, having snubbed the interviewers who had been waiting to pounce on him, enquiring about the mistakes ( _mistakes!_ Manu could have screamed) that had led to Marco's hattrick. The Bayern players said nothing as they trailed after him, nobody wanting to fuel his anger, so powerful after the events of the match. Thomas looked torn with indecision about what to do for a while, but eventually settled upon remaining quiet- Manu's mood was such that words of comfort would only serve to make him more livid.

Everybody understood him, despite their wariness of his behaviour. A draw after a decent performance against a title rival wasn't a _crisis,_  yet there was the definite feeling that three points could've been taken away- but had been lost because of individual errors. Robert had to privately contain his delight at his own personal success in the midst of his teammates' disappointment, though Jerome was squeezing his hand so hard it was almost numb as they went to get changed. Mats was standing far from Manu, not wanting to get yelled at anymore. The look the goalkeeper had given him following the final whistle had been one of pure disgust.

Benni had slipped into the changing room after a brief exchange with a stadium security member, looking for Mats. The Schalke man stood in the doorway for a moment, surveying Bayern. He wanted to make a comment about how Bayern had let him down and  _this_ was why he usually hated them, but he didn't have the heart to do so. Especially when Mats looked so glum.

"Hey," he said softly, going straight up to the centre back. Nobody really regarded Benni as he approached, he was often in the changing rooms following Bayern home games, barring when he was playing. "You weren't that bad, honey."

Mats gave him a disbelieving look as he slid his arms around Benni's shoulders, grateful for his presence.

"Are you kidding me? I lost those one thousand five hundred euros- yeah, I upped the bet during the match," he added, at Benni's puzzled look. "My mistake. I missed that header. I missed the clearance. I lost focus leading up to the penalty. I lost my mark so many times. I missed the tackles. I was awful. Manu's furious at me."

Benni glanced at the goalkeeper, whom everyone was giving a wide berth, even Thomas. His usual calm had disappeared just as violently as his clean sheet had. Benni knew there was no point sugarcoating things for Mats. Manu rarely got very angry at defenders, he understood that mistakes happened- it was only when they had really bad performances that he lost his patience. Benni knew this first-hand- whenever he had made bad mistakes for Schalke that had led to Manu conceding, Manu had given him more than a piece of his mind. 

"Don't worry about Manu, he'll get over it eventually," Benni assured him, tangling his fingers in Mats's curls. "And don't worry about Marco or the bet. Just focus on improving yourself. You know today was far out of the norm. Everyone has a bad day."

He pressed his lips against Mats' neck, sending warmth throughout the taller man's body as Mats sighed, leaning forwards. He wasn't up to a motivational talk, so he just stayed silent. They remained still for a while, Mats trying not to catch Manu's eye.

The conversation between Robert and Jerome was just as private yet much less disheartening. Robert's head was resting against his boyfriend's chest as they sat down on the bench, Jerome's arms wrapped around his shoulders. Fips would have yelled at them to get changed, but he supposed Robert deserved a little indulgence, especially as he had been the best player on the pitch today. He let them be. Basti tried to ignore them as he pulled off his socks with a leaden feeling in his heart.

"You were incredible," Jerome murmured in Robert's ear, rubbing his shoulder. The man smiled warmly at him. "Honestly, baby, I don't want to say  _I told you so,_ but I told you so. Look at the talent you have. Look at what you achieved today."

Robert's lips touched Jerome's jaw, leaving trails of warmth against his skin. "Would've been great if I could get a fourth. It feels more bitter that we didn't end up winning."

"I'll say," Jerome muttered, as Manu snapped at Leon for getting in his way (the midfielder scurried to the side immediately, terrified). "But in terms of individual performances, nobody will have a word to say against you."

"Man, I'm not that self-centred, I  _do_ care about the team more than my individual performances, sometimes," Robert chuckled. "But thank you, Jeri. I love you so much. Honestly, playing with you today really seemed to boost me forwards."

Jerome smiled shyly and kissed Robert's forehead. "If only I had managed to assist you, eh?"

"There's plenty of other games upcoming," Robert laughed. They leaned in towards each other.

Basti, who had been dragging his feet along dispiritedly since the game's end, had to turn away so the two lovers weren't in his peripheral vision. They made his throat ache and his eyes burn. It was  _painful_ to see Robert and Jerome's love. He thought about Lukas watching the game back in London. He imagined what things would have been like if  _Lukas_ had scored the hat trick in the match, if it was he cocooned in Basti's arms-

His thoughts, thankfully (because he had been about to burst into tears), were interrupted by a commotion from the doorway. 

"No, no, no." Fips was standing by the exit of the changing rooms, a look of complete horror on his face as he regarded whoever was standing outside. "You can't come in. Not right now."

"But I have a peace flag!" a very familar voice rang out indignantly.

Manu's head whipped up so fast it was surprising it didn't click. "Is that Reus?"

Thomas hurried to the doorway, holding his arm out to stop his boyfriend from charging towards the intruder like a bull. Indeed, a familiar pale arm was waving around what looked like a pair of white socks, which was evidently what he was referring to when he said he had a 'peace flag'.

"Does it help if I'm here too?" Mario was standing alongside Marco, looking somewhat exasperated, as per usual.

"Why would it help?" Thomas said crossly. "You two are the last people we want to see today."

"Yes, yes," Marco said airily, waving a hand. "You're all very irritated that I equalised. I understand. But is this any reason to throw away an approach of friendship-"

Manu stormed up to Marco, causing the forward to pause in his tracks and Fips to cover his face with his hands.

"You," Manu said, jabbing a finger at Marco aggressively (the man cringed away). "Are a fucking bastard. That first goal was never a penalty and it was never in the box. You didn't deserve that draw-"

"Too fucking right." Benni had strode over to join the angry congregation of players and to make his opinion about Dortmund known. "If you hadn't gotten that bullshit first equaliser, that game would have gone diff-"

"Shut up, Schalker," Marco said loudly, holding his hand out towards Benni to silence him. "You're a salty bastard who just wanted us to drop points. Ok, so maybe that first equaliser was a little suspect. So what? It didn't change the course of the entire game. It's not my fault your defence was caught slacking-"

"You can eat my father-" Jerome began, with Robert vehemently supporting him along with Fips and David, but Mats looked away. Marco, who had evidently been making the taunt to bring him into the conversation, gave him a cursory glance.

" _And_ it's not my fault you missed chances that could have turned into goals. Like a certain  _header,_ " Marco said, enunciating every word carefully. Again, Mats said nothing. "And it's not like it's my fault you didn't save-"

Mario grabbed Marco's arm to stop him from continuing, the expression that had flashed across Manu's face had been quite alarming.

Robert decided to intervene before Marco ended up dead at Manu's hands. "Okay, Mr High-and-Mighty, oh, Dortmund prince. Remind me, how much do you owe me again?"

The smug look on Marco's face dropped like a weight.

"That's right, you fucking fraud," Robert said gently. "Three pure goals from der Meister.  No bullshit penalty on  _my_ tally. A header, a volley and a left-footed banger that was better than anything Arjen could ever produce-"

"What do they have in the juice at Dortmund that makes every player so self-righteous yet so wrong?" Arjen asked in wonder. He had been vaguely following the conversation for his own amusement (he found Marco very funny), and was now looking around at everyone in disbelief.

"It's a gay thing," Joshua assured him. "We're all absurdly convinced we're on top of it all."

"What do you think Jerome does to Lewy to give him such overconfidence?" Thiago asked slyly from the side, purely because he knew the man would find it embarrassing.

Surely enough, Jerome choked and turned away and Robert grinned even more widely. Javi apologised for Thiago, who looked utterly without remorse.

"The real question is, what does  _Mario_ do to  _Marco_?" Kingsley asked, genuinely curious-he had found Marco's narcissism fascinating since his first der Klassiker.

Mario was far more shameless than Jerome and smiled broadly. "Who knows, Kingsley. Maybe I have magic hands as well as magic feet."

"Not as magical as Jerome  _sliding_ onto Lewy- get it? Because he slide tackles?" Leon said. It was an awful sexual pun but Jerome still ended up in a coughing fit, with Robert slapping his back sympathetically.

"How did the conversation get to this point?" Marco interjected loudly, partly to save Jerome and partly because he had quietly been observing the sullen glimmer in Mats's eyes for the past few minutes. "We were just talking about how incredible I am, not trying to make Jerome uncomfortable by saying the  _sex_ word-"

"We were literally talking about how you owe me money for failing in our bet," Robert corrected him.

"Bets!" Marco said exuberantly, disregarding the rest of what Robert had said. "If I recall correctly, Muller, we made two bets- and you lost both of them-"

"You're not special," Thomas said bitterly. "I seemed to have made losing bets with everybody."

"I did warn you," Fips sighed.

"You need to cough up, two hundred euros," Marco said brightly. He ignored Robert's look for as long as he could before finally caving in. "Okay, fine, Lewandowski, I'll give you yours too. Fucking little twit."

"I need my money too," Mario piped up from the side. "I'm happy with fifty euros and the knowledge that I was better than you."

Manu left the conversation, scowling heavily, as Thomas grumbled several unpleasant words about Marco and Mario that they blithely ignored (though Marco watched Manu go feeling a little confused).

"Hold on," Jerome said, having recovered from his catatonic state of embarrassment and now blinking at Marco. "I thought you made a bet with Mats too? Wasn't it a thousand euros? How come you're not flouting that in his face?"

"Ugh. Thanks for reminding him, Jerome," Mats groused.

Marco realised that every pair of eyes in the room was on him. Normally he would have relished the attention and a chance to rub something in Mats's face, but now he felt somewhat uncomfortable.

"Ah, what's the point?" he said finally. "I've got plenty of euros already. And we always knew I was better than Hummels, so I can let that bet slide. Muller, though, you're not getting away with anything, I want every coin."

Fips looked extremely shocked. He turned to Arjen. "Punch me and wake me from this dream. No, don't actually punch me, you degenerate!"

Mats also looked utterly gobsmacked. "You definitely doped before this match, Reus."

"It's charity, Hummels," Marco said dismissively. "It wouldn't do to exploit the vulnerable."

"Aw, so I'm strong, am I?" Thomas said, placing a hand on his heart.

"Stronger than whatever Hummels is, and that isn't saying much," Marco said even more scornfully. "You're certainly strong enough to give me my two hundred euros."

"I thought you had plenty of euros already?"

They dissolved into bickering, which was one degree lower than outright brawling by German standards. Mats looked very shell-shocked as the Bayern players all dispersed to let Marco and Thomas battle the semantics of bet-making while Robert chimed in to remind them of the money he was owed.

Benni, in the meantime, smiled gently to himself. Reprobates though they were, it could not be denied that Germans had big hearts.

 ***

"So... you came."

Marc-Andre stood in front of his mirror, glaring at himself. 

And then he sighed, covering his face with his hands.

"No, that's shit," he muttered to himself distractedly. "What are you, a gothic villain? Don't go too over the top. Try it again, ter Stegen."

He took his hands away from his face, gave himself an encouraging nod in the mirror, and arranged his expression so it was calm.

"So you came," he said flatly, making sure he didn't act too overblown, keeping his hands relaxed by his side.

He squinted at himself for a good while. And then he groaned.  "No, no no!"

He hadn't quite lost his mind yet, but he was on the verge of doing so. Marc-Andre was rehearsing his reaction to Bernd's arrival in Barcelona and so far all he had managed to do was look goofy, dead inside or some strange combination of both. He wanted to strike the perfect balance between appearing calm and cold but instead he looked as though he had toothache.

"Come on, ter Stegen, don't be pathetic," he told himself once more. "Again!"

He made himself taller, puffed his chest out, and muttered:

"So, you came."

He was suddenly well aware of the fact that he was saying the words "so, you came" and burst into giggles.  _Gott verdammt!_

He pictured the scene he wanted in his mind. He would be lolling around, relaxing, and the doorbell would ring. He would glance up from the cool activity he was doing and get up, sauntering over to the door. He would open it and see Bernd standing there. Instead of acting shocked, he would calmly mutter, 'so, you came' and stride back into the house purposefully, with Bernd stumbling along in his wake.

Yes,  _that_ was what he wanted. Unfortunately, he couldn't quite nail the delivery of his line. Because it now had a new dubious meaning, he decided to change it.

"So, you're here, are you?" he tried tentatively. That was a pretty good one. It sounded dismissive, as if Marc-Andre didn't care much at all. He repeated the line with different inflections:

"So... you're here, are you?"

"So  _you're_ here,are you?"

" _So,_ you're here,  _are_ you?"

He was starting to get into his stride with his method acting. Just for fun, he tried yelling the words, letting his arms flail, and accidentally swiping right on an incoming call on his phone.

"SO, YOU'RE HERE, ARE YOU?" Marc-Andre yelled.

Leroy, who had been calling for a friendly conversation, jumped about a mile out of his skin. He was relatively sure it counted as an out of body experience.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph. What's gotten on your goat?" he asked.

Marc-Andre, who had been about to laugh at himself, suddenly looked horrified as he realised what he had done. He picked up his phone and flapped his hands about, plastering a beam onto his face.

"Leroy, mein Freund!" he said in a very high pitched tone of voice. "Good to see you and good of you not to see me doing anything ahahahaha shut up!"

Leroy blinked at him. "Um... Hey. You look even more jumpy than you usually do, what's the occasion?"

"I saw your face, it gave me a fright," Marc-Andre said without missing a beat, though his cheeks were burning.

Leroy's expression was thoughtful, he seemed to be judging the roast.

"Come on, that was a good one," Marc-Andre coaxed.

"By your standards, yes," Leroy said finally. "I'll grant that one to you. I am suitably impressed."

Marc-Andre waited for him to rate the content and execution of the roast out of ten, and then he realised that was only a thing he and Bernd did. Coughing slightly awkwardly to himself, as if Leroy could actually hear his thoughts, he tried to find something witty to say.

"So, uh," he stammered out. "What brings you to my call? No, wait, I mean, why are you calling?"

Leroy gave Marc-Andre a weird look. "I just wanted to check up on you, man. To see how you're doing? How's life? How's Bernd?"

"You don't need to ask me about him in every fucking conversation," Marc-Andre said sullenly, as Leroy grinned, having scored a hit. "We can talk about things that don't involve annoying assholes. Such as football, or what I did today, or any other general aspect of my existence."

"But the Bernd stuff is  _funny,_ " Leroy declared. "I like seeing you squirm and try to claim that you're not in love with him."

"I am literally not in love with him. It's like, the opposite of love. Fickfehler."

"Marc-Andre, Marc-Andre," Leroy sighed. "Need I remind you it was  _me_ you drunkenly vented to following Barcelona's failure in last year's Champions League?"

"I don't recall."

Leroy was getting into his stride. "What were the exact words you said to me again? Hmm, let me root through my memory-"

"Leroy-"

" _I love him,_ that was one particular phrase-"

" _Leroy-_ "

" _I wish I didn't, God, I wish things could be different-_ "

"I'm going to cut your fucking head off-"

" _Oh, Leroy, this is such a disaster, I can't stop thinking about him, he messaged me and he told me that what happened was expected of me, but then he said-_ "

Marc-Andre hung up immediately, a bright, boiling scarlet. Leroy rang again a few seconds later. Marc-Andre ignored it. Leroy called again, and Marc-Andre finally swiped right again, glaring at the smug face that flickered into view.

"Have you recovered?" Leroy asked with a sly grin, as Marc-Andre just shook his head mutely. "I'm sorry, Marc-Andre, but you forced my hand. Excessive denial will lead you to your downfall."

Marc-Andre shook his head again. "It's not excessive denial. Ok,  _m_ _aybe_  at one point I liked him, but that's gone well and truly out of the window now, you know that, especially after-"

He cut himself off quickly, luckily before his mouth decided to spout out something self-incriminating. Though he often confided in Leroy about certain matters, he didn't want to talk to  _anyone_ about Bernd's upcoming visit to Barcelona. He felt like it would just increase his anxiety.

"Especially after what?" Leroy asked.

"Especially after he transformed into a huge dickhead," Marc-Andre muttered dismissively, though his heart had leapt a little. "I don't like him anymore, Leroy, and that's pretty much that. I mean it."

Leroy looked at Marc-Andre for a long time, evidently weighing whether he wanted to continue making life difficult for Marc-Andre or whether he wanted to discuss something else. The shuttered expression on Marc-Andre's face, along with the obvious discomfort, made him make up his mind. 

"If you say so, ter Stegen," he sighed. "But you know I'm always here for when you crash out of the Champions League and have a few too many drops of alcohol in your system. Not only because I'm a messy bitch who likes drama, but because I'm a good friend."

"Right," Marc-Andre cooed. "I return the offer, Leroy, when Manchester City inevitably make no progress in Europe once more, and you get excluded from Germany's tournament squads. You can divulge  _all_ of your deepest, darkest secrets to me too."

Leroy looked glum. "Even  _you_  are capable of eviscerating my entire existence. Es hängt mir zum hals Heraus. Auf wiedersehen."

And with that, he hung up, leaving Marc-Andre wondering how long he'd be able to cling onto denial for before people started to catch on.

***

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Julian B:** change the name of this group chat

 **Mesut:** dortmund won the bundesliga?

 **Julian B:** no why would i even want that

 **Julian B:** what even are you mesut??? why are u rooting for dortmund??? shouldn't u be rooting for schalke or bremen???

 **Mesut:** i have no bundesliga affinity anymore

 **Benni:** You're the worst type of person

 **Sami:** You don't even have affinity with your own club

 **Mesut:** that wasn't a roast that was just lazy

 **Sami:** I need to see you in person to have more material

 **Miro:** I woudl root for Bremen  but

 **Julian B:** bremen don't do anything

 **Miro:** Dizagree thats not why

 **Julian B:** but does anybody care that's right no

 **Julian B:** anyway change the name of this group chat to

 **Julian B:** 'LEVERKUSEN won the bundesliga'

 **Marco:** ok honey, you beat stuttgart

 **Marco:** and you only beat them 2-0

 **Mario Got:** is like beating saarland in extra time in the pokal and claiming you're ready for europe

 **Jonas:** That is unfair to Saarland!!

 **Mario Gom:** Jonas you are meant to be on my SIDE.

 **Jonas:** Oops sorry Mario I didn't mean it like that

 **Sami:** Yes u did

 **Mario Gom:** This disrespect is unacceptable

 **Miro:** It is osk

 **Miro:** I am aon your side

 **Mario Gom:**!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Miro:**!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Mario Gom:** You're the only one who sent me a good luck message lol

 **Mario Gom:** Smh the only one who believes in me

 **Mario Gom:** You shouldn't tho lol

 **Miro:** You can. make me believe in anything

 **Mario Gom:**!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Julian D:** Look let's review the facts:

 **Julian D:** Nobody gives a fuck about leverkusen or stuttgart

 **Julian D:** Let's talk about BAYERN VS DORTMUND

 **Leon:** unsubscribe i don't like thinking about the equaliser

 **Lukas:** MY BOYFRIEND THE MIDFIELD MASTERMIND

 **Lukas:** HIS ASSIST TO LEWANDOWSKI WAS SUBLIME

 **Basti:** i aim to please

 **Basti:** and i achieve those aims

 **Mesut:** oh yeah, marco?

 **Mesut:** marco?

 **Mesut:** MARCO

 **Toni:** I don't think he's here anymore probably fucking mario after that assist

 **Mesut:** ew

 **Mesut:** anyway i wanted to rip into him for not getting the hattrick first and losing me that bet

 **Mesut:** he shouldn't be having any sex

 **Toni:** Lewandowski deserved it

 **Sami:** Honestly Lewandowski was better on the pitch than Marco

 **Sami:** His hold up play is a sight to behold

 **Sami:** And those finishes were divine

 **Benni:** Exactly dortmund didn't deserve anything

 **Benni:** That first penalty was just appalling

 **Benni:** Not even fully in the box and it was a light challenge

 **Sami:** Yeah that was even more sus

 **Mario Gom:** Manu looked like he was going to blow a blood vessel

 **Leroy:** that was actually fucking terrifying

 **Leroy:** literally remind me not to get on his bad side

 **Leon:** you guys have no idea

 **Leon:** he gave me one look and it turned me into ashes

 **Leon:**  


**Mats:** don't even get me started he was looking at me like that for the entire game

**Mats:**

**Mats:** that's what it was like in person but like... angrier

 **Leroy:** yikes

 **Benni:** You don't understand he's mellowed out since he was at Schalke

 **Leroy:** THAT'S mellowed out?

 **Benni:** He used to lose his mind at losses

 **Benni:** Especially if defenders fucked him over

 **Benni:** Shouted so loudly and all the younger players were terrified absolutely terrified

 **Benni:** You should be grateful THAT Manu wasn't playing today

 **Mats:** can you imagine i already feel like hes gonna kill me in my sleep

 **Mats:** kahn was bad enough

**Mats:**

**Mats:** flashbacks to this

 **Sami:** Imagine Kahn with someone like Jonas

 **Mesut:** the levels of anxiety really jumped out

 **Julian D:** He'd die

 **Julian D:** He'd literally evaporate

 **Julian D:** He'd apologise for existing

 **Jonas:** You're not far off

 **Jonas:** When I met him

 **Jonas:** I was drinking a glass of water with a programme in my hand

 **Jonas:** When he came up to me he said, "Guten Tag, Jonas Hector"

 **Jonas:** In that loud voice of his

 **Jonas:** My heart disintegrated

 **Jonas:** I thought he was acting as a hitman or something here to assassinate me

 **Jonas:** Both hands were full so I had to put the programme under one arm to shake his and I spilled water all over me

 **Jonas:** Then I started stuttering like an idiot and then apologising

 **Jonas:** And he said, "calm down, son, I'm not angry at you"

 **Jonas:** He looked like the confused Nick Young picture

 **Niklas:** I can perfectly picture that scene in my head

 **Leon:** honestly if any situation could perfectly describe a person

 **Jonas:** Stupid? Haha

 **Julian B:** au contraire

 **Julian B:** ADORABLE.

 **Sami:** Incompetent

 **Jonas:** Haha that's more like it

 **Julian D:** Sami I will turn your mother into pottery

 **Leon:** donty ou even theink of ever even considering insulting jonas

 **Julian B:** he's WRONG honey you're wonderful

 **Mesut:** in my day die mannschaft members never got defended from roasting

 **Mesut:** they were thrown into it

 **Mesut:** turned upon by their own friends

 **Sami:** Lord do you remember 2010 Mes

 **Sami:** After that semi final

 **Mesut:** holy SHIT

 **Sami:** Basti and Poldi were at each other's throats

 **Sami:** Manu was raging about Puyol

 **Sami:** Thomas was yelling at Miro for being calm about the loss

 **Sami:** Fips was screaming at everyone for being pathetic and fighting

 **Sami:** Me and you were the only ones not absolutely ripping into each other

 **Mesut:** yikes and jogi was just shaking his head

 **Mesut:** that was NOT it

 **Mesut:** luckily we won the next one or miro would have been liable to SNAP

 **Miro:** It took 4

 **Miro:** To finally get one

 **Jonas:** What I like about us though is the fact that we get angry when we lose

 **Jonas:** We're so close during winning times and we're a big family

 **Toni:** Emancipate me

 **Jonas:** And when we lose, we get so furious because our desire to win is so powerful

 **Jonas:** We want the best for ourselves and when we don't get it we get mad

 **Jonas:** But even through the bad times we come out strong again

 **Jonas:** I think that's pretty amazing

 **Toni:** Wow...

 **Toni:** 6 messages of pure hyperbole

 **Toni:** We get angry bc we're petty

 **Toni:** Real winners don't claw at each other after an L js

**Joshua: how would you know what it means to be a real winner**

**Toni:** 3 champions leagues taught me the sensation tbh

 **Toni:** Maybe you'll learn it... one day x

 **Toni:** But not everyone can manage to learn it, that's okay!

 **Toni:** Take things at your own pace

 **Joshua:** ur taking shots at a 23 year old for not having as much success as u, at 28

 **Toni:** How old is Mbappe

**Joshua:**

**Jonas:** I sense that a fight is going to start so I'm just going to say before anyone points out to me

 **Jonas:** Maybe I was wrong.

 **Mesut:** jonas honey

 **Mesut:** just never think the best of die mannschaft.

 **Mesut:** because they'll show you their worst in response.

 **Marco:** they'll show him hummels?

 **Mats:** FOR THE LOVE OF GOD I THOUGHT U WERE GOING TO BE NICE TODAY BUTAPPARENTLY NOT I HATE U SO MUCH 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i get a kick out of writing sweet! marco damn. i also get a kick out of writing angry! manu so much idek why
> 
> also confirmed something else within this chapter ;)
> 
> danke jeder for reading, bis später! :P <3
> 
> (sorry this is a short chap+note, i've been super busy!!!)


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to add in some disgustingly fluffy Robome in this am sorry i couldn't resist i justs love them so fYUCKING much!!! 
> 
> sorry for recent delays in posting aha, life's busy and so am i... today is revierderby so i didn't get tickets to see us vs nurnberg simply because revierderby is always the best footballing day of the season and GOD CAN SCHALKE WIN. :P the thing is i was going to make a chapter based around it, but to appreciate revierderby fully i feel like u have to be embedded within the bundesliga, and that's nothing against you lovely people i just know there aren't a lot of bundesliga fans here so i wouldn't want to bore you!!!

Bernd liked to claim he was the more calm and composed out of him and Marc-Andre, but he wasn't exactly scientifically proving that at the moment. In a show of pure panic and nothing else, he had called Mesut, begging him to come over to his apartment and help him with... his situation. But now Mesut was here, Bernd wasn't so sure how helpful he was going to be. Bernd wasn't even sure what he had been planning to tell his teammate when he came over.

However, Mesut didn't seem to be racked with compassion and concern when he sauntered into the apartment, apparently thinking it was his own house. He kicked his shoes off at the doorway and instantly made for the sofa, turning onto his back and making himself comfortable, flicking on the TV at the same time.

Bernd stared at him.

"What?" Mesut asked eventually, when he noticed Bernd's expression. "You invited me over, I'm just making myself at home."

"I didn't invite you to move in, you pig," Bernd said aggravatedly, switching off the TV and snatching the remote from Mesut's hands. "I invited you to  _help_ me."

Mesut watched forlornly as Bernd placed the TV remote on a shelf. Now it was a few feet away, and he would have to get up to get it.

"What do you want, then?" Mesut asked, now his plan to relax had been scuppered. "What was that frantic phone call about?  _Mesut, Mesut, please help me, come over, I need you..._ You made it sound like you had been shot or something."

"And yet you don't seem too worried about my health," Bernd muttered, as Mesut kicked his legs up. "I called you to help me with something."

"Thanks for reminding me, you've only mentioned that about twenty times," Mesut said lazily. "Help with  _what,_ man?"

The expression on Bernd's face was disdainful, to say the least. "Maybe I should have called Lukas. Or Per. Or anyone else in the world."

"Why  _did_ you call me?" Mesut asked curiously. "Lukas and Olivier are way more... emotional and sentimental than I am. Though I am here to be a good friend, don't you worry."

Bernd contemplated this. "Well, Lukas is kind of scary at the moment, and I don't want to hear him say  _I told you so._ And Olivier... well, he can be a little overwhelming sometimes. I thought you were a good balance between reasonable and empathetic, God knows why."

"Wait," Mesut said suddenly, holding a hand up to stop Bernd, though Bernd had already gone quiet. "Hold the phone. Pause.  _You don't want to hear him say, 'I told you so'?  Lukas?_ Is this about _Marc-Andre_ _?"_

"Well done, you've cracked the case," Bernd said dryly, not even fazed.. "At this point, I don't know how you could think any situation I'm involved in could be anything that  _didn't_ involve that idiot."

" _And_ you're not denying it?" Mesut looked utterly astonished. "I'm sorry, I'm not quite sure what level of reality I'm meant to be operating on here."

"The reality where I'm going to Barcelona in four days." Bernd wasn't sure how he could speak the words with such confidence, without so much as a tremor in his voice, but he managed it. The reaction from Mesut was immediate.

He fell off of the sofa.

"You  _what?_ " Mesut demanded, once he had pulled himself back up. " _Waß?_ _Que? Quoi?_ You're going to  _Barcelona?_ In four days?  _Why?_ "

_Yeah, answer that, Bernd, why don't you._

Was there any point in hiding it anymore?

"Well," Bernd sighed finally. He took a seat in an armchair besides Mesut- if he was standing, he'd be liable to pace up and down until his legs fell off. "Let me tell you all about it."

Mesut's jaw dropped.

"You're  _telling me?_ " he demanded. "You're just  _telling_ me a secret?"

"Against my better judgement."

"Wha- waß-" Several bombshells had been dropped in quick succession and Mesut wasn't sure what to say. "Well, can I call Sami?"

"Why would you call Sami?" Bernd asked, utterly bewildered.

"Can he know about this?" Mesut looked almost pleading. "Please? We've been trading theories about you and Marc-Andre for five centuries and I really want to know which one of is right."

"Are you out of your fucking mind? Why would I ever say yes?" Bernd said, and then he paused to think. "Actually, no, you can call him."

Mesut's phone was already in his hand, but he looked confused. "Wait, why'd you agree to  _that_ so quickly?"

"Because even if I don't let you, you'll tell him anyway. And no, don't try and preach your morality, Mesut. I know you two," Bernd said flatly (though he privately thought that they didn't know themselves). "So I might as well tell both of you instead of Sami having to pretend he doesn't know anything while you two giggle away during international breaks."

"You're more self-aware than I thought," Mesut said wonderingly, going through his contacts.

"Really?" Bernd muttered. He knew very well that the German National Team thought he and Marc-Andre were both idiots- but then again, they did put up a convincing performance.

Mesut swiped onto Sami's contact (Bernd caught the brief flash of a Brazil flag by his name) and a video call appeared on the screen. Bernd leaned back in his chair, the picture of uncaring calm, though his insides were twisting. Was it finally time to pour this all out? Was his first audience really going to be Mesut and Sami? The irony of it all was a little absurd.

After a few moments of ringing, Sami's face appeared on the screen. Bernd saw how radiantly he smiled when he saw Mesut and he felt his insides lurch once more.

"Hey, Mes," Sami said brightly. "I didn't know you were going to call now, what's up? Wait, you're not in your apartment, are you, that's not your wall colour-"

Bernd's lips carefully tightened.  _Sami knew Mesut's wall colour._

"Hey, Sam," Mesut said excitedly and cheerfully. "I was going to call in a few hours, but right now is a special occasion. Guess where I am?"

He turned the camera towards Bernd, whose expression was neutral. Bernd smiled sarcastically and waved and Sami looked bewildered.

"Leno? Holy shit, is this going to be good?" Sami was beginning to sound excited. "Leno! Get into my line of sight. I want to see you."

Bernd just sighed and stood up, traipsing over to the sofa where Mesut was sitting, flopping himself beside the midfielder. When he saw Sami again, he once again sarcastically beamed.

"What's the occasion?" Sami asked, his gaze flickering from Mesut to Bernd. "This has got to be something good."

"You fucking German," Bernd said disdainfully. "It's straight to the drama and gossip."

"What else would I say?" Sami asked.

" _Hi, Bernd, how are you, long time no see. How has your transfer been? How are you finding London?_ "

"Why would I ask that?" Sami asked, genuinely bewildered. "I don't care about anything relating to your life if it isn't to do with Marc-Andre."

Mesut guffawed and Bernd sank lower onto the sofa.

"So what's this gossip?" Sami insisted, looking excited again. "You had to have called me for some reason."

Mesut gestured at Bernd, as if to say,  _take it away. Explain it all._ Bernd's gaze travelled from Sami to Mesut and then back to Sami. The two closeted lovers looked wildly expectant. Bernd wondered, not for the first time in his miserable life, if he had made a mistake.

"Well," he said finally, pulling his shirt up over his head. "It  _is_ about Marc-Andre."

Mesut and Sami cheered.

" _And_ he's going to Barcelona," Mesut added to Sami, who looked astonished. "Tell us why, tell us everything, Bernd, hurry up!"

"Will you let me  _speak?_ " Bernd said exasperatedly. "I was just getting to that."

He hadn't been 'getting to that', actually. He had been planning on stalling until he was finally forced at gunpoint to admit things. Now he was being forced at gunpoint to do it earlier. Such was his luck and such was his life.

"You know that training day?" Bernd muttered, sinking even lower so he was practically on the floor. "The day where Lukas shouted at me about Marc-Andre? For ignoring him? And it was really awkward and terrible?"

"Yes," Sami and Mesut said in unison. Bernd didn't bother questioning it.

"Well," Bernd said slowly. "After all of that... I called Marc-Andre."

Mesut slapped Bernd in excitement.

"Don't hit me, you reprobate. I'm going to explain it." Bernd covered his face with his hands. "Um... well. We had a conversation. Ter Stegen was angry at me. He started ranting at me, saying that I had disrespected him by ignoring him instead of just talking to him."

"You were," Mesut said, and Sami made a noise of agreement. That was going to get  _really_ annoying.

"Yeah, well," Bernd muttered. "Ter Stegen sort of issued me with an ultimatum. He told me that if I didn't say things straight, if I didn't tell him, well, the truth, then we were done."

Sami whistled.

"Yeah." Bernd stared at his knees, remembering the tears that had tracked down Marc-Andre's face, the sickening lurch of his own stomach at the words. "It scared me. It really did. What he was saying... He sounded so certain. He sounded as though he was serious. For the first time in my life... I knew what it felt like to be afraid to lose someone."

He did not look at Mesut and Sami, who were looking at each other in mild shock.

"I told him," Bernd continued on, in a slightly stronger voice. "I told him to listen to me. I told him we should speak in person. I told him that we should get the chance to be face to face and properly talk about all of this... And if afterwards, if he... if  _we..._ decided it couldn't go on like this, then we could call it a day. We owed that much to each other."

Mesut nodded. "You're right. You do."

"So you bought a plane ticket to Barcelona?" Sami said in a low voice. "For next week? That's ballsy."

"Yes," Bernd said simply. "I had to. It was the only thing I could do. Who knows when else we'd have a chance to see each other again if I hadn't done that."

Silence. Both Mesut and Sami were weighing this comment in their minds. Then:

"What will you say to him?" Mesut whispered. 

"The truth." Words were coming more easily to Bernd than they had done for a while. He was now looking Sami straight in the eyes.

"What's the truth?" Sami murmured, staring hard at Bernd.

Bernd took a deep breath. It was going to be tough to finally admit it. People already suspected it. It wouldn't be _surprising._ But it would still be taking a huge step to confirm it all. But, something about being in the presence of Mesut and Sami urged him forwards. Here were two people who had breached levels of denial and had gone into straight up blindness. Perhaps Bernd would be able to remove some of what was clouding their vision. He made the decision. It was time to break this barrier. 

"I love him," he said quietly.

Mesut fell off the sofa again. Sami's expression remained unchanged.

When Mesut pulled himself back up again, he looked thoroughly thunderstruck. Bernd was staring at his knees again.

"Did you just..." Mesut looked at Sami, who looked at him back. "Did you just confess to loving Marc-Andre?"

"I did," Bernd said softly. "Lukas made me realise there's no point in hiding it anymore. These opportunities come and go before you know it. I have to seize this moment. How often does life throw you chances like these? I love him, and that's why I've been behaving like this. Competing with him, having him overshadow him, seeing him get the love while I'll probably see the bench for the national team... It's agonising. It's why I never wanted to talk about these feelings. I cared about my career. I didn't want things to be another Marco and Mario. But there are more important things."

"But Marco and Mario are happy," Mesut said, puzzled. 

Bernd said nothing.

"I can't believe you went and said it," Sami said, looking almost amazed. "I don't have the heart to make jokes. Though Mes, you owe me a hundred euros, you said Marc-Andre would admit it first-"

"Is this the time?" Bernd said wearily, as Mesut opened his mouth to indignantly respond. They both looked sheepish.

"No, you're right," Mesut said. "That's really amazing of you, Bernd. Acknowledging your feelings. Acting like an adult. I'm sure Marc-Andre reciprocates. I'm sure you'll be fine. All he's wanted, all both of you have wanted all this time, is for someone to take that first step. It took you long enough."

Bernd restrained himself from making a comment  _just_ barely.

"It can take you a long time to see something that's right in front of you," he settled on saying. "In my case, it was realising I just needed to do something to break this deadlock."

_And for you, it's realising you love each other in the first place._

"Going to Barcelona is an appropriately crazy move. Es ist wahnsinnig. But it's also remarkably proactive and _very_ die Mannschaft," Sami said approvingly. "Who knows, eh? Next time we see you, maybe we'll see you together."

"Let's not jump to that point yet," Bernd muttered. "I still haven't planned anything I'm going to say."

But, he thought to himself, maybe he didn't need to. Maybe they had gotten past the point of memorising speeches and fumbling their words. He felt as though perhaps he would finally be able to stride out and seize the day without worrying what might go wrong.

If only Sami and Mesut felt the same way. Unfortunately, as he watched them giggle and start cracking jokes, reminiscing over every time Marc-Andre and Bernd had been oblivious, he thought to himself, they still have a long way to go.

***

_For the first time in his life, Robert was in Sabener Straße. He had heard plenty of stories about Bayern's training ground, but he had never imagined he'd end up here one day, with a red shirt on. He wondered what the look on Marco's face would be if he saw the scene right now- Robert getting initiated into Bayern's locker room, meeting the team he was soon going to be playing with rather than against, getting ready to start his new life at a new club..._

_The man would be livid. Robert felt a swell of remorse as he remembered Marco's parting words for him- they had not been pleasant. Marco had spat at him in disgust, told him to turn his back, to leave him just like Mario had-_

_He sighed as Thomas bounded up to him with a grin. Best not to think on things like that now._

_"I never thought I'd see the day," Thomas said cheerfully. "Robert Lewandowski, wearing our colours, in our training ground. You'll have to be careful walking through here, in case people think you're an intruder and ambush you."_

_The excitable Bavarian was to act as Robert's tour guide. It was a little surprising that somebody so embedded within Bayern's team was the one initiating the Dortmund transfer into the Bavarian way of life, but Thomas was good-natured. He was clearly delighted at Robert's arrival. He liked making new friends. The same could not be said for Manuel Neuer, on the other hand- though he seemed outwardly polite, Robert knew he was not too partial to him because of all the goals Robert had scored against him in the past._

_"Don't worry about Manu," Thomas said airily, waving a hand as Robert brought the fact up amusedly. "A lot of players start off being a bit iffy if a rival joins us, they're petty, but in a few days you'll all be as tight as ass cheeks. And not_ everyone _is_ _dubious about your arrival."_

_"Who isn't, barring you?" Robert asked with a grin._

_Thomas gave him a shifty grin. "Mario, of course._ And _someone who should probably dislike you, considering all the grief you've given him."_

_"Who?" Robert asked curiously._

_Thomas just tapped his nose, indicating he'd be keeping that little tidbit to himself._

_Robert pondered who it might be as they moved along. Thomas was still smiling to himself as he pointed out various aspects of the training ground. He was acting as though he and Robert had been best friends for years- although they had always been friendly to each other even during highly pressurised matchdays, Robert would have imagined a little more... well, pride. Or wariness._

_He wasn't complaining, though. He could use a friend. He had one in Mario Gotze, but Mario had a lot of teammates from his national team here anyway so they were most likely completely fine with him. Robert also shuddered to think what Marco would feel if he saw him and Mario buddying it up whilst leaving him at Dortmund._

_"Everyone's through there," Thomas said, as they drew up to the training ground's locker rooms. "They've been forced to be nice by Pep."_

_"It'll take them a lot of effort," Robert chuckled._

_They entered the locker room. Robert's eyes were suddenly assaulted with a tide of red. The players all smiled at him, clearly having decided against acting like children and being hostile. Mario beamed at him and surged forwards to give him a hug._

_"Everyone, lo and behold Mandzo mark two," Thomas announced, and everyone groaned. "Don't tell Mandzo I said that though. He'd kill me. I still love him! And turn that frown upside down, Manu, he'll be scoring for you and not against."_

_Robert's gaze travelled to Manuel, who had his arms folded. The man's somewhat stiff expression dissolved into a genuine laugh and he winked at Robert._

_"I only hope you're a good investment for us," he said._

_"I'll do my best to live up to my hefty price of nothing," Robert returned. "Perks of free transfers."_

_Manuel laughed again._

_There was a lot of shaking of hands. Bastian Schweinsteiger gave Robert a gentle smile as they hugged not after a loss or a win, but as a mark of a new friendship._

_"How did Marco take things?" he asked in his soft voice. Robert blinked, and then sighed._

_"Not well," he muttered. "He was furious. And... well, he cried."_

_Bastian raised his eyebrows but Mario, who had heard the conversation, sighed sadly. "He'll get over things, Robert... Soon enough."_

_Robert shrugged and turned to shake hands with Arjen Robben, who had caused_ Robert  _a lot of grief over his time with Dortmund, as well as Franck Ribery. Philipp Lahm, the short captain of the team, gave him a diplomatic handshake._

_"Your years of getting past me are forgotten," the man said calmly. "Welcome to München, Robert."_

_Robert grinned and gave the captain a hug- the man looked surprised but patted his shoulder._

_It seemed that Robert had done his rounds with everyone but one figure. His eyes couldn't help but be drawn to the tall, pretty man standing in the corner of the room, staring down at his interlocked fingers. Jerome Boateng, the defender whom Robert had played against multiple times, didn't seem to be in too much of a hurry to greet Robert._

_When Javi Martinez stepped away, he shared a glance with Thomas who in turn shared a glance with Mario and the Germans, who had started to grin._

_Thomas spoke up. "Jerome! Don't you want to greet our newest arrival?"_

_Jerome jumped as if he had been hit and stared around at them all. His eyes briefly met Robert's- Robert smiled at him, even as his cheeks started to burn for some strange reason._

_"Uh- uhm-" Jerome stammered, as the Germans had to turn away to hide their mirth. "Ja, natürlich! Es t-tut mir leid..."_

_He almost tripped over himself in his haste to reach Robert. It was... adorable._ He  _was adorable. Robert's throat was suddenly dry as Jerome held out his hand. Robert reciprocated, taking hold of the man's warm hand, though it was sweaty- they shook hands for an inordinately long amount of time, Robert staring at the man's beautiful face, while Jerome looked almost anywhere but Robert. When they let go, Jerome nodded awkwardly and hurried back to his corner, wiping his hands on himself._

_Thomas's expression was controlled, mostly because Fips was giving him a look, urging him not to laugh at Jerome._

_"He's just shy, he's secretly delighted to see you," Mario muttered, and the Germans' lips pressed even harder together as Jerome tried valiantly to melt against the wall._

_Robert nodded vaguely, just staring at him. Goddamn. He had always known that Jerome was objectively attractive, he had seen him enough times on the pitch, but in the light of the locker rooms in an atmosphere that wasn't viciously charged and a bit of focus in him... he wasn't sure if he had ever seen someone so good looking._

_People started speaking to Robert, but he barely took notice. He nodded and hummed in agreement every once in a while, but his eyes kept flickering to Jerome, against their will. The man was still shifting his weight restlessly from foot to foot, but his gaze met Robert's one time Robert looked at him- and he smiled a little before looking away again._

"There's a scene where the detective..."

Robert was brought out of his arbitrary descent into reminiscience as Jerome shifted in his lap slightly, in the middle of explaining his theory about a crime show he was watching at the moment. He blinked as the real world flickered into view around him, and he wasn't in Sabener with Jerome standing several feet away with him- Jerome was right near him, radiating warmth.

The two of them were having a lazy evening- Jerome had claimed earlier that he was feeling dizzy and shivery, and Robert had indeed surmised that his boyfriend had come down with a fever. After having initially forced some medicine down Jerome's throat, the two of them had retreated to the sofa, where Robert had put on an episode of  _Gute Zeiten, schlechte Zeiten_ , so Jerome could get some rest. The defender was currently lying with his head in Robert's lap as he stroked his hair, cocooned in blankets, occasionally taking mouthfuls of soup.

"... goes to his brother's apartment, but he isn't in. He left a note for the detective saying he was out and to come around later. It's probably meant to be really inconspicious, but it's actually super suspect, because in season one, they make a big deal out of the sick brother not being able to go out as much, he seemed really depressed about it. And in this episode he just ups and leaves?"

"Maybe it's meant to be a red herring," Robert suggested, feeling Jerome's forehead. It was still hot, and Jerome was still shivering slightly. "Maybe the writers want you to make that connection and start suspecting the brother while someone else works in the background."

"True," Jerome said thoughtfully. "But at the moment they're really spinning Amelie as the murderer, so much so that it'd be actually disappointing if she was the real big bad."

"What if there's another twist? What if there's another facet to Jack's murder, and the real kicker was who led Amelie to him?" Robert offered, whilst at the same time forcing Jerome to have some more soup.

This sort of highbrow television analysis could go on for a while. Robert had never actually watched Jerome's show, but he had absorbed all the story details mostly because Jerome was constantly explaining new plot developments that happened, and was always excitedly making predictions about what was going to happen next. Robert wasn't so interested in the concept of the show but it made Jerome happy, so he was happy to indulge in these conversations. Plus, it helped to take Jerome's mind off of how miserable he was feeling at the moment. However, before Jerome could leap on Robert's theory, he was rudely interrupted by the clanging of the bell.

Jerome blinked in the middle of his speech. "Who could it be?"

"Don't know," Robert said, feeling bemused. "Stay here-  _stay,_ Jeri- I'll go check."

He gently eased Jerome's head off of his lap so the man could lie back on the sofa. Jerome didn't have the energy to follow him- whenever he lifted himself upright he felt a wave of dizziness. He watched Robert go with his head against the sofa, squeezing his eyes shut as the world tipped upside down and he felt like he was going to throw up.

Robert hurried to the doorway, his confusion mounting. Who  _could_ it be? Surely not a pap? When he peered into the camera of the front doorstep, however, he was shocked to see a very familiar face standing outside.

"Jeri!" he called out. "It's Basti!"

"Basti?" Jerome demanded, startled, trying to sit up and falling backwards immediately again. 

Robert went to open the door. When he did, indeed, he was greeted by the sight of one Bastian Schweinsteiger standing in the doorway, holding a bottle of wine in his hands and looking thoroughly worse for wear. Robert took one sweeping look at him and knew immediately what this might be about.

There were silent tears pouring down the midfielder's face but he wore a huge beam on his face as he saw Robert. He looked like a huge mess. His clothes were rumpled (he was only wearing a shirt and jeans in this cold), his eyes were very red, and he was swaying slightly on the spot.

"Robert!" he said loudly, as if he had never been happier to see someone in his life. "Mein Freund? Wie geht's? Come here, you maniac!"

He rushed at Robert like a bull, almost knocking the man backwards with a hug and almost smashing his bottle of wine. Robert just managed to catch it from the top before it was gone.

"Oops!" Basti said, clapping a hand over his mouth as he swayed a little more. "Sorry. That... that would've been bad if I dropped that, 'cause it's the whole reason I'm here. Sorry I'm here unannounced and ruining your evening, Robbie-"

He placed a hand on Robert's face and squeezed his face.

"But I thought if I brought some alcohol you'd be more  _partial_ to me. If you're not, though, that's  cool. You can tell me to fuck off. I can go back home. I just thought some alcohol would help make you more _partial_ to me. Wait- did I already say that? I think I already said that. Oops. I've had some alcohol already so I'm not too partial towards _myself._ Or stupid Arsenal player L-Lukas Wazowski. No, not Wazowski, that's stupid of me, forgetting his name. It's  _Lewandowski_!"

"Alright, Basti, in you come," Robert sighed, guiding the drunken and tearful Basti into the hallway and out of the chilly evening. "Let me take this bottle from you. Give it to me... there's a good central midfielder."

"Thanks!" Basti hollered, thrusting the bottle at Robert and almost dropping it again. "Oops. Sorry. Hey, where's Jeremy? I mean, Jerome. Where's my favourite defender?"

"Rob?" Jerome's voice called out from the living room. "Is that Basti? What's happening out there?"

"There he is!" Basti said delightedly. He kicked off his shoes and stumbled into the wall before finding his way into the living room with Robert following him, making sure he didn't fall over. "Jeri!"

Jerome, from where he was lying on the sofa, looking a lot more strained and sweaty, looked at Robert in abject bewilderment. Robert gestured to the bottle of wine in his hands as Basti tripped over his feet to give Jerome a hug. 

"What's wrong with you?" Basti cooed, cupping Jerome's cheeks (the man was looking more alarmed by the second). "Why are you lying down looking all sick and sweaty?"

"Uh... because I'm sick and sweaty?" Jerome said slightly hoarsely. 

Basti's face fell comically, though this was counterpoised by the fact his eyes were still pouring with tears. "That's no fun!"

"Yes," Robert agreed, guiding Basti to a sofa, where he flopped backwards and sagged dejectedly. "Sick and sweaty people shouldn't be drinking any alcohol. And neither should you, Basti. I'll go and put this in the kitchen."

Jerome watched the bottle of alcohol go somewhat forlornly before turning his gaze to the Bayern midfielder, who had grabbed a pillow and was now sobbing into it. He had seen similar displays of drunken behaviour from both Basti and Lukas before so he wasn't particularly surprised, but it was somewhat painful to see the usually calm Basti such a mess.

"Basti," Jerome said gently, turning a little on his side, unable to sit up fully. "How did you get here?"

"Oh..." Basti seemed to be trying to remember. "I  _drove._ "

"You  _drove?_ " Jerome said in alarm, trying to imagine a Basti in this state on the road. Fortunately Robert and Jerome were not too far away from him.

"Yeah!" Basti said brightly. "Was fine though... I kind of forgot how to get here but then I remembered coming here with Lukas that one time, so I got here in the end!"

"Okay, Basti, you can't do that again," Jerome said seriously. "It's really dangerous to drive while you're drunk. You can stay over here for tonight, okay? We don't have training tomorrow so it should be fine-"

"I'm  _fine,_ Jeri," Basti said dismissively. "I c-can manage by myself-"

Robert had re-entered the room and heard these last few comments. "No, Basti, we can't let you drive by yourself. Either I'll drop you or you can stay here, though we'd prefer it if you stay here, you don't want to be home alone in a state like this."

"A state like  _what?_ " Basti demanded crossly. "I'm c-completely fine. Look at me. In fact, I'll show you, I can drive home right now-"

Robert went over to the sofa before Basti could get up and gently pushed him back down.

"Basti, you can talk to us," he said gently. "We're here for you. That's why you came, wasn't it?"

"We're here to listen," Jerome agreed. Robert looked at him in concern. He was shivering properly now. He got up to go over to his boyfriend and felt his forehead again, then made sure Jerome drank some more water.

Basti started to cry harder at the sight.

"I'm so annoying!" he wailed. "Why am I crying? It's so cute! You care about each other!"

He fell sideways on the sofa, sobbing. Robert and Jerome exchanged looks. 

"I might be  _way_ off base here," Robert said carefully. "But this is about Lukas, isn't it?"

"No," Basti said, his voice muffled by the pillow he was currently speaking into. "It's not about love or relationships or missing people or feeling lonely or feeling touch-starved or not having sex or not beng with the person you love most or missing people. It's _nothing_."

"Basti," Jerome said softly. "Did you talk to Lukas today?"

"Yes," Basti said sullenly. "I spoke to him and I cried and he said he loved me and that I was his baby and then I got so sad I had to hang up. Then I got a drink and then I started crying some more. Then I decided I couldn't stay at home by myself or I'd do some very unadvisable things like  _breaking up_ with Lukas so I decided to come to a good couple for advice and Manu has been angry recently so I decided to come here instead of to him and Thomas."

He spoke all of these words without taking a breath.

"Basti!" Robert said in alarm. "You weren't thinking about breaking up with Lukas!"

"I was," Basti assured him. "That's why I came here so you could stop me."

"Why would you even think like that?" Jerome said, shocked beyond belief. "You love Lukas more than anything!"

Basti pulled the pillow to his face again. "I know! I know I love Lukas more than anything! That's exactly why I was thinking about breaking up with him!"

Jerome and Robert looked at each other once more.

"Don't look at me l-like I'm stupid!" Basti yelled at them. "I know what I'm talking about! Think how miserable you two are when you're away from each other for  _one week!_ Imagine feeling like that all the time! Imagine having all these memories with the person you love and then they're just away from you all the time so you can't make new ones! I miss him so much and it's killing me! I feel like I need to cut things off so I don't  _rely_ on him all the time!"

"Basti," Robert said quietly. "You're not thinking straight. It's just the alcohol-"

"I've felt like this without alcohol," Basti said fiercely. "All I want is some peace from this  _loneliness._ Or I want Lukas again. Is that too much to ask?"

"Marco did it, Basti," Robert said gently. "Marco tried to cut things off with Mario when he went to Bayern. It broke him. You and Lukas have been with each other for longer, it'd be so much harder. You wouldn't be able to manage it. You know you wouldn't.

Basti looked angry. "Marco and Mario- they  _still_ have anger in their relationship. They're  _still_ not completely happy even though they're back together-"

Jerome and Robert exchanged uncomfortable looks.

"You and Lukas are different," Jerome said eventually. "It's different circumstances. You've always wanted the best for each other. You love each other so much. Basti, think what you're saying. The reason you're acting like this is because you love him so much. Breaking up would just make you so much more miserable. Don't you see that?"

Finally sighing, Basti slumped again. "I know. This is why I came here. For you to tell me all the reasons it's wrong to break things off. Wow, you guys are great. Imagine if I had been by myself, eh? I would've dialled Lukas up and yelled,  _it's over_! What a thought!"

It was startling how abruptly Basti seemed to change his mind. But then he spoke again.

"Football is the worst," he said in a low, dejected voice. "It's a sport where nothing stays the same. People always come and go and friendships break and teams are constantly changing. The old die Mannschaft of 2006 is gone, the days of me and Luki in the youth teams are gone, the Bayern with Luki and me are gone. He's gone all across Europe while I've stayed the same. Who knows where he'll go next? Who knows if he'll always want me?"

Robert sighed. "Basti... You've managed this long-"

"Things change, Robert, that's not the goddamn point," Basti bit at him. "I can't control anything. God, what I wouldn't give just to be with him again, to just feel some  _familiarity_ again. If only I had what you have."

Jerome's fingers tangled with Robert's and they looked at each other. Basti now seemed to have exhausted his ability to rant and was now lying still on Robert and Jerome's sofa, staring blankly into space. And then his eyes slid shut. Jerome and Robert watched in silence as the midfielder seemed to have tired himself into falling asleep. He looked troubled as his body slowly went slack but at least he wasn't drunkenly buzzing anymore and constantly  _thinking._

Surely when Basti woke up he would realise how silly he was being. It was just the drink and the sentimentality talking. Basti and Lukas would never part. Robert knew that for as long as he had known Basti.

The silence was broken by Jerome suddenly heaving forwards. Robert looked at him in alarm as Jerome clutched his head.

"Oh, God, I feel sick," Jerome said, looking nauseous. "Rob, I feel  _terrible..._ my head is spinning and it's so cold."

Robert looped an arm around his boyfriend's shoulders, squeezing him gently. "Come on, baby, I'm here. Let's get you to bed, eh? It's been a long day and you need rest. And some medicine."

Jerome nodded queasily. Robert pulled him upright very carefully and slowly, but he still swayed as he was struck by dizziness. Aided by his boyfriend, Jerome took several slow, stumbling steps as he was guided towards his bedroom. Walking up the stairs was a challenge, with Jerome threatening to throw up, but he reached the top without fainting. Robert had to half-carry Jerome to the bedroom.

"Here you go," he said softly, helping Jerome into bed- the defender's eyes were already closed. "If the fever hasn't broken by tomorrow than we can go to a doctor, okay? Right now you just need to sleep, my baby. Sweet dreams."

He kissed Jerome absurdly gently before pulling his head away and looking down tenderly. His boyfriend was already asleep. 

When he made his way downstairs again, he saw Basti curled in more on himself, frowning in his slumber. 

Love could either be easy or difficult. For Robert and Jerome, it came as easily as breathing and gave nothing but sunshine and joy. For Basti and Lukas it brought loneliness and took courage to face on. It wasn't fair. But as Robert got a blanket to throw over Basti, he thought that Schweiniski were the most stubborn of the stubborn and they would last. They weren't youths struggling with the concept of leaving each other for ambition anymore. They were more than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall knew fluff where one of them is sick was coming. you K N E W it. you also knew a bernd scene and a basti scene was incoming.
> 
> sorry i feel like this chapter is bad????
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed anyways!!


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dilly ding dilly dong- servus jeder, here's another chapter for ya! thank u all again for ur continued lovely comments! sorry it's a bit late, lots of training this week!
> 
> read a wonderful article from the players tribune by mario gomez which almost made me tear up :')  
> https://www.theplayerstribune.com/en-us/articles/mario-gomez-wolfsburg-germany
> 
> (again ignore references to ages time is nothing)

For the past hour or so, things had felt slightly strange for Mario. He couldn't quite put his finger on things until his gaze arbitrarily travelled to Marco during the advert break of the show he was watching. Marco had headphones in and was lazily sprawled out on another sofa, but his expression was rather odd as he looked at something on his phone. He looked wistful... and a little angry. Mario frowned to himself, wondering what he was thinking about, but eventually returned his attention to his programme. If something was wrong with his boyfriend he was sure he would find out what it was soon enough.

Eventually, however, his curiosity got the better of him. As the credits rolled, he looked at Marco again and saw there was a sullen glimmer in his eyes. Mario had to ask what was wrong. Almost tentatively, because Marco's expression was not particularly inviting, he leaned forwards and called, "Hey, baby?"

Marco looked up from his phone, surprise flashing across his face, before being replaced by a shuttered look.

"Yeah, what's up?" he muttered.

"Nothing, you were just looking at your phone like it was Mats," Mario laughed. "I was just wondering what you were watching."

Marco hesitated, then grinned. "I assure you I'm not looking at my phone like it's Hummels. If I was, it'd be in fucking pieces right now."

Mario refused to be deflected. "Then what  _are_ you looking at?"

"You getting nutmegged," Marco retaliated, badly. It was clear he did not want to relinquish any details. Again, Mario was not to be deterred.

"Huh," he said contemplatively. "That would mean you're watching nothing, because I've never been nutmegged  _no do not mention the incident of 2011 I will bite you._ "

Marco closed his mouth, which had just been about to emit an incriminating remark before Mario had beaten him to it.

"Seriously, baby," Mario chuckled, at the downcast expression on his boyfriend's face at having been denied a chance to roast. "What's gotten your goat?"

"You."

Mario stared at him unblinkingly, and finally, Marco sighed.

"Is there any point-"

"Of saying 'it's nothing'? Who do you think I am?"

"A bastard," Marco muttered. "Who got nutmegged by Hummels. Who wasn't even running."

"I will put your mother on a plane bound for London," Mario said calmly, before returning to the point, unmoved by Marco's attempts to rile him up and distract him through roasting. "If you don't tell me what it is right this second, Marco Reus-"

"Oh, fine, fine, don't threaten me. Fuck's sake," Marco sighed, conceding finally, rather like Manu conceding two equalisers in the Bayern-Dortmund match. "I'm just watching highlights, why don't you ship me off to prison before I really lose control."

"Highlights?" Mario said thoughtfully, ignoring Marco's shade. "Of what?"

Marco hesitated even further, fidgeting with the hem of his T-Shirt. He seemed to have retreated into himself a little, and that was most unusual.

Mario was starting to worry.

"Of... 2014," Marco said finally.

The penny dropped. Marco twitched uncomfortably as Mario's entire face seemed to soften. He was sensing the imminent arrival of sympathy and did his best to alleviate the damage that he had inflicted upon himself.

"Don't look at me like that," he said brusquely. "I'm just watching Hummels failing his passes. Nothing else. No, don't come here-"

Mario had stood up, and was marching over to the other sofa. Marco raised his arms over his head to defend himself against his boyfriend's approach but he didn't manage to shut off his phone quickly enough. It was plucked from his hands by Mario, who had the air of someone who had successfully worn someone down into conceding (rather like Dortmund wearing down Manu into conceding two equalisers). 

As Marco grumbled and groaned, Mario checked the screen. Indeed, Youtube was up, but the video title had nothing to do with Mats. Instead, it read,  _Reus World Cup qualifier injury 2014._

Mario turned to stare at Marco, who glared at him back- though only half-heartedly.

"What are you watching this for?" Mario asked, far too gently.

It took Marco a while to respond again. He picked at his T-Shirt and muttered some incomprehensible words before finally scowling heavily.

"Because," he said stiffly. "I wanted to."

"You wanted to watch yourself get injured and miss out on the tournament of your life?" Mario asked disbelievingly, not noticing the way Marco flinched. " _Why?_ "

Marco shrugged, trying hard to look tough. "I just- I just..."

For one of the few times in his life, he was struggling to find words. Mario watched him fumble, the balloon of worry in his chest expanding even further, before he decided to cut in.

"What's going on, baby?" he asked softly. "What's happened to make you start watching these videos, to look back at these times?"

Marco's ears had turned red, and he muttered uncomfortably, "Well... it's nothing... nothing that's happened yet."

"What's that meant to mean?" Mario asked in confusion.

"Well," Marco mumbled, so quietly Mario had to strain to hear him. "It's just..."

He gestured at Mario hopelessly, unable to illustrate his point. Mario had sat down next to him now, staring at him with a frown. Marco was never like this. His behaviour had been completely normal in the past few days- normal being boisterous, overconfident and insufferable. He had been even more so after the game versus Bayern, he had not stopped praising himself all the way back to Dortmund. But now he looked  _uncertain._

"It's just..." Marco said yet again. "Well... I'm playing one of the best seasons I've had in a while right now. I haven't felt this good for a long time."

Mario smiled proudly. "That's right, baby, you are. And I'm so happy for you. So why would you watch your low moments, when you're on such a high?"

"Well," Marco muttered again. "I just wanted to remind myself... not to get too hopeful."

Mario was stricken as he realised what this meant. And it coming from Marco made it almost worse. "Baby! Why would you say something like that?"

"Why not?" Marco retorted, a little more aggressively, taking Mario's shock as incentive to defend himself. He sat more upright. "Why can't I say it? It's the truth. I'm not going to try and pump myself with optimism, Mar, I'm just going to say things like they are. I could be playing at the same level as Messi and have it end with another injury and another season lost. It's life."

"But that sort of thinking..." Mario floundered for a moment, taken aback by the abrupt increase intensity of the conversation before finding his words. "It's not going to benefit anyone. If you keep being wary about getting injured you might become overly cautious, and if you get overly cautious instead of just living in the moment it might end up with you being unhappy and constantly paranoid-"

"Mario," Marco cut in, massively. "We've gone past the stage where I can 'live in the moment' and just come back strong if I get knocked down. I'm not getting any younger."

"You're not old. You're one of the best players in Europe. All you need to do is stay consistently fit-"

"But I don't. I'm _never_ fit," Marco said in frustration. "Did you see what Coman said? In the news?"

Mario shook his head, bewildered by this turn of conversation.

"He said that if he got another bad injury, he'd retire early." Mario's eyes widened. "Yeah, that's right. He said he wouldn't go through another operation again. And  _he's_ only twenty two. I'm nearly fucking thirty."

"But-" Mario was seriously starting to get upset by the way this conversation was going. "That's... Marco, you weren't thinking of..."

He couldn't finish his sentence, it was too terrible to contemplate the possibility. He waited for Marco to suddenly burst out laughing, to slap him on the back, telling him he worried too much, and that _of course_ he wouldn't leave football, he wouldn't want it to collapse. But Marco didn't do any of that. In fact, he was suddenly blinking very hard.

"It's hard, Mar," he said in a small voice, and that almost broke Mario, because nothing about his Marco was small. "I've probably spent more time injured than playing. I missed out on every tournament in my lifetime due to injury. I have, what, thirty eight caps for Germany, compared to Thomas's one hundred, and he's younger than me. You have more caps than me and you're three years younger."

This fact was painful. Mario remembered hearing all of the horrible jokes, or the sympathetic words about how unfortunate it was about Marco's international career. But he couldn't accept what was being said.

"But you're not..." He could barely speak, he felt like he was going to cry. "You love football. How could you think of retiring early? Even if you do get injured, haven't you always just battled with all your might to get back on the pitch? You said yourself you'd give up your money to just play."

"And playing isn't what I'm doing." Marco looked frustrated, and to Mario's abject shock,  _tears_ were welling in his eyes. "I know that I'm playing fine at the moment, but how many times has that happened before? How many people have told me  _this season will be yours,_ only for it to end in six months of pain and frustration and not achieving anything for myself? I got through the whole World Cup qualifications campaign only to get injured in the last match and miss out on one of the potential best experiences of my life. I've never been in an international tournament, I never got those memories with you guys. I seem to only play halves of seasons. Have you realised I've never even won the Bundesliga? I'm sick of it, Mar, I'm sick of it. Everytime I feel like it's my moment, things come crashing down and I'm out of the picture again. And I hate it."

"You always get back into things," Mario said firmly. "You're a fighter, Marco, you never stay down for long."

"But if I get knocked down again, maybe I'll stay there," Marco murmured, brushing at his eyes. Mario genuinely started to cry at this, because _Marco_ talking about staying down... " If this hope is replaced by disappointment yet again, I'm done. It's horrible, Mar, I don't think I'd be able to take it again. You don't know what it's like to be in soaring form and then have to suffer a cruciated ligament or a fucking groin injury or have your back cave in. You end up alone on a table trying to find a reason to get fit again while your teammates achieve things without you. How many operations have I been through, how many months of fucking agonising physio appointments and hesitant reassurances and apologies from doctors who tell me I'll be out for months?"

Mario was silent. All he could think about was how Marco had been  _alone_ through all these injuries, watching the World Cup from Germany by himself, on the operating table, trying to recuperate by himself while Mario had won the Bundesliga with Bayern and had won the World Cup for his country. Marco Reus, the wunderkind, had received nothing for his pains.

"I'm being serious, Mar," Marco murmured. "If there's another injury, if this season ends in nothing, I'll leave football. Maybe it's just not meant to be. Just like Coman said. I'll find some other way to lead my life. There's a world out there, you know?"

And then he dropped his head in his hands. He did not emerge from them for a good while as Mario watched him, his throat burning.

"I'm sorry," Mario murmured, more tears splashing over his eyelashes. "I'm sorry, Marco. I'm sorry it has to be like this. Whatever you decide, I'll be by your side. Til the end of the line. You know that, right? If you get injured, you won't be alone again... I swear it to you."

As Marco finally raised his head again, his expression was unreadable. He wasn't looking at Mario. Mario leaned forwards and pressed his forehead against his boyfriend's and slotted his fingers in his.

"But I'm going to be hopeful," Mario continued softly. "You're on wonderful form at the moment. You're scoring and you're creating and you're pushing us forwards. Having you as our figurehead and captain turns this team into a completely different place. No matter what might happen, right now things are going well and I'm going to keep faith. You could make me believe in anything, baby. You're my light and my life and I believe that if anyone can overcome impossible odds, it's you. Maybe I'm being hopelessly optimistic, but I don't care. I'll stay that way because I want nothing-  _nothing-_ but the best for you."

Marco's lips quirked at the sides and finally, he turned his red eyes onto Mario. "Honestly, Mar. Knowing me, I'd probably outdo all your wildest expectations, because I'm just that good."

Mario chuckled wetly, opening his arms for Marco to drop his body into. He knew that the comment was not an indication that Marco felt comforted by Mario's words- no, Mario suspected that Marco was only saying it to make him happy. But Mario had known Marco for all this time- he had fallen and gotten back up and fallen and gotten back up and, no matter what he said to the contrary... Mario knew that he would keep doing so.

Or so he hoped.

***

_Private chat between Mario Gomez and Jonas Hector:_

**Jonas:** Hey Mario

 **Jonas:** I just wanted to check up on you

 **Jonas:** And make sure everything's going okay

 **Jonas:** How's life going?

 **Mario Gom:** Lost 3-0 to gladbach

 **Mario Gom:** That's always good

 **Mario Gom:** Lowest goal difference in the league

 **Mario Gom:** That's better

 **Mario Gom:** Potential relegation upon what was supposed to be the fairytale ending to my career

 **Mario Gom:** That's almost too good

 **Mario Gom:** Life should slow down and give me time to enjoy everything

 **Jonas:** Oh Mario :(

 **Jonas:** There's plenty of time in a season to make comebacks and shape up again, don't worry

 **Jonas:** I know I'm not best qualified to talk about comebacks in the league, aber...

 **Mario Gom:** I get your vibe ok yeah usually Stuttgart scrape their way back up

 **Mario Gom:** Though I just might be the bad luck effect

 **Jonas:** Don't say that, you've done great things

 **Jonas:** Top scorer in Turkey, Bayern great

 **Mario Gom:** Hahahahaha Bayern ah bless

 **Mario Gom:** Reminding me of my heights

 **Jonas:** They were heights!

 **Mario Gom:** Barely Everest though

 **Jonas:** You were great, Mario

 **Jonas:** You were one of the best German strikers out there

 **Mario Gom:** Euros 2008 says hello

 **Jonas:** Euros 2012 returns the greeting

 **Mario Gom:** Touche

 **Jonas:** Anyway, you can vent to me about football as much as you want, but I just want to quickly ask

 **Jonas:** Is everything out of football going okay?

 **Mario Gom:** Just peachy thanks

 **Mario Gom:** I broke the dietary laws and got these white chocolate covered oreos today and??

 **Mario Gom:** They made me ascend to another plane of being

**Mario Gom:**

****

**Mario Gom:** Just fyucking bury me alive in them tbfh

 **Jonas:** Hahaha glad they made you happy

 **Jonas:** I just always thought Oreos were just on a crusade to make as many flavours as possible to get that Geld

 **Jonas:** Sounds pretty lazy to just cover normal Oreos with white chocolate haha

 **Jonas:** Bratwurst oreos next

 **Mario Gom:** You say that as a joke but I'd consume them by the ton.

 **Jonas:** You're right I don't know why I said that as if I WOULDN'T eat them

 **Jonas:** I like to live outside the rules myself and consume yoghurt WITH fat

 **Jonas:** And Muller Corners

**Jonas:**

**Mario Gom:** Such self-indulgence simply cannot go unpunished. Markus Anfang should perhaps reconsider his disciplinary tactics and ensure his players stay on form, lest they risk another footballing disaster.

**Mario Gom: - Bild**

**Jonas:** Hahaahahahaha

 **Jonas:** Honestly it IS  a bad habit but I can't restrain myself

 **Mario Gom:** You animal

 **Mario Gom:** How are you anyway Jonas?

 **Mario Gom:** How was your game, sorry I couldn't catch it

 **Jonas:** Ah, well

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Thomas:** JONAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Thomas:** BABY ARE YOU OKAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Thomas:** I JUST SAW YOUR INJURY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Thomas:** MY HEART HAS STOPPED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

_Private chat between Jonas Hector and Mario Gomez_

**Mario Gom:** You got injured?!?!?!?!

 **Jonas:** It's really not that serious haha

 **Jonas:** Just an ankle injury

 **Mario Gom:** Still you should've said me talking about fyucking oreos!!!

 **Jonas:** It's fine haha, not a problem at all!

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Jonas:** Thank you for your concern Thomas, I'm fine thank you, don't worry, just an ankle injury, out for two or so weeks

 **Julian B:** WHAT?!!?!??!?!!

 **Julian D:** WHAT HAPPENED TO JONAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Leon:** ok i just got fuelled by a powerful rage and i am READY to fight

 **Mats:** it's ok jonas i'll touch you and the pain will go away

 **Benni:** Excuse me, Mats Hummels?

 **Mats:** ok, jarring wording. pack it up everyone

 **Mesut:** my nostrils are filled with coke zero from  hwoh loudly i just snorted

 **Julian B:** NOBODY SHOULD BE LAUGHING

 **Julian B:** THIS IS THE LEAST FUNNY THING THAT'S EVER HAPPENED

 **Jonas:** It's fine they can laugh it was more of my mistake anyway!

 **Thomas:** LIES AND LIBEL WTF

 **Manu:** Thomas just raced over to me to show me and that was not your fault Jonas

 **Manu:** Wtf was he thinking

 **Mario Gom:** Just watched it too Jonas that's never your mistake

 **Mario Gom:** Wasn't even going for the ball

 **Fips:** Imagine trying to injure a left back like that.

 **Fips:** Disgraceful challenge.

 **Jonas:** I don't think it was intentional  though he apologised to me

 **Toni:** The only way any of these guys would forgive him is if he fucking kissed your feet and pledged his allegiance to you for 20 years as penance

 **Julian B:** NO LIFELONG SERVICE

 **Leroy:** oh man whoever hurt you picked a bad enemy

 **Leroy:** these guys would die for you

 **Leroy:** sorry for your injury bro glad to hear you'll be back on your feet again soon

 **Jonas:** Thank you Leroy!

 **Jonas:** It's really not that big of a deal guys!! I'm fine!! But thank you guys for your concern!

 **Joshua:** AU CONTRAIRE A BITCH IS ABOUT TO DIE

 **Thomas:** THAT WAS A RED CARD CHALLENGE

**Niklas:**

**Sami:** I felt that injury in my bones

 **Sami:** My ankle actually hurts now...

 **Jonas:** It didn't hurt that much, honestly

 **Mesut:** wow man. i feel like i should send u a virtual hug

 **Mesut:** for ur troubles

 **Mesut:** u didn't deserve that

 **Jonas:** THank you Mesut, a lot :)

 **Jonas:** Thank you all

 **Julian D:** Thank us when that defender has paid for his crimes.

_Private chat between Jonas Hector and Mario Gomez_

**Jonas:** Mario you don't think they actually will kill him do you?

 **Mario Gom:** I wouldn't discount the possibility

 **Mario Gom:** If anyone looked at you the wrong way they'd get eviscerated

 **Mario Gom:** I'd eviscerate them too bro dont worry I've got ur back

 **Jonas:** I mean thank you but also AHHHHH

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Toni:**

**Toni:** Die Mannschaft calling a cabinet meeting to plan their attack

 **Jonas:** Oh God

 **Jonas:** It's not even a big loss haha if I'm out for a few weeks

 **Jonas:** It's not the same as if, say, Marco was out

 **Mats:** ok first of all

 **Mats:** every single letter of that was wrong

 **Mats:** like jonas you're usually a fairly reasonable individual

 **Mats:** but that sentence

 **Mats:** those 10 words

 **Mats:** i shuddered

 **Jonas:** But it's true!

 **Julian D:** Jonas when you're off the pitch Koln wither and die

 **Julian D:** Best leftback in the world

 **Jonas:** We do fine without me honestly

 **Jonas:** My teammates are so strong 

 **Julian B:** but without their KAPITAIN

 **Julian B:** without you in the vicinity

 **Julian B:** anyone would falter

 **Toni:** You are a great leftback Jonas

 **Toni:** You'll be fine for the international break right?

 **Jonas:** First of all thank you so much Julian that's the nicest thing I've ever heard

 **Jonas:** And Toni thank you too

 **Jonas:** And yes I should be fine for the break

 **Toni:** Good

 **Niklas:** I breathed a sigh of relief tbh

 **Niklas:** Ur my real defensive partner hummels or boatengwhom

 **Niklas:** better than fips on your side

 **Mats:** niklas honey, without me as your partner bayern would have 0 0 0 clean sheets

 **Mats:** ur right about boa tho

 **Manu:** Pardon?

 **Mats:** i mean bayern would have every game being a clean sheet because manu is the best keeper ahahah

 **Fips:** Okay the man got injured but there is no need to lie to him.

 **Jonas:** Hahahaha I was just going to say!

 **Thomas:** fips shut the hell 

 **Julian D:** Philipp

 **Julian D:** Literally nobody asked you to speak

 **Fips:** I was only saying the truth.

 **Niklas:** What truth?

**Mesut:**

****

**Mesut:** don't worry i'll look for it

 **Sami:** Report back with your findings

 **Mesut:** ok guys im back

 **Mesut:** my results:

 **Mesut:** fips is a miserable little bastard and jonas is a pure ray of sunshine who outSHINES him in every way

 **Fips:** I don't know what I expected.

 **Jonas:** Awww no it's not true

 **Jonas:** Fips just towers over me in every way

 **Leroy:** JONAS MADE A SHORT JOKE

 **Thomas:** SHORT JOKE SPOTTED

 **Fips:** Hector.

 **Jonas:** OH GOD I'M SORRY I DIDN'T MEAN TO MAKE A SHORT JOKE

 **Jonas:** IT WASN'T INTENDED

 **Sami:** WHAT A WORLDDDDDDDDDDDDD

 **Lukas:** IT'S LIKE 7-1 TO JONAS AT THIS POINT

 **Jonas:** PLEASE DON'T MURDER ME FIPS

 **Fips:** I'm glad you're going to be here for the international break.

 **Jonas:** I DON'T KNOW WHETHER I SHOULD THANK YOU

 **Mats:** NO HE'S GLAD YOU'RE THERE

 **Mats:** BECAUSE HE'S GOING TO KILL YOU

 **Mats:** BUT YOU CAN DIE HAPPY

 **Jonas:** AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

 **Mario Gom:** Don't wrory Jonas we're here to protect you

 **Julian D:** Fips won't be able to reach you with us here 

 **Julian D:** Both a short joke and not

 **Julian B:** it'll be like a cat leaping for a light, just out of reach

 **Julian B:** you're safe

 **Lukas:** i wish basti was awake so he could see these scenes

 **Lukas:** a world where die mannschaft members make short jokes about fips with confidence

 **Fips:** I don't know where they're getting this confidence from but I'll be contacting all youth academies.

 **Miro:** I alwAys made short jokes

 **Lukas:** you did tbfh

 **Lukas:** fips couldn't say anything tho he was lowkey scared of you lmaooo

 **Fips:** I was not.

 **Mario Gom:** How could you be scared of Miro

 **Lukas:** ok just review the facts he was this tall goalscoring person with a kind of angry face

 **Mario Gom:** He has a benevolent face wtf

 **Thomas:** he radiates kidnness

 **Miro:** Thank you Masio you too

 **Mario Gom:**!!!!!

 **Thomas:** ok just ignore my compliment

 **Miro:** I thjnk Fips didnt say anything because

 **Miro:** He was intimidated

 **Miro:** By my ability

 **Julian B:** OPA REALLY JUST SNAPPED???

 **Julian D:** I DON'T GET HOW HE JUST CALMLY EVISCERATED FIPS???

 **Leon:** 7.5/10 FOR CONTENT AND 1111/10 FOR EXECUTION

 **Leon:** LIKE THE ROAST ISN'T THAT GOOD BUT THE MALEVOLENT ENERGY

 **Toni:** Come on Marc-Andre could do better than that

 **Mats:** marc-Andre stops all of your teams goals that was mwah

 **Mats:** fips anything to say

_Philipp Lahm left bayern won the bundesliga._

_Thomas Muller added Philipp Lahm to bayern won the bundesliga._

**Miro:** Case Klosed #3

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the angst :(( but i was lowkey projecting contemplating my injury and how my career never came to be... dont worry this fic is mostly happy!! marco will be fine!! but also, can i have thoughts on this chapter? i can't help but feel the marco bit was badly paced?
> 
> so let me quickly outline how the next few chapters are going to work-  
> following the steno barcelona showdown, we'll be heading into another international break. club life wasn't meant to be particularly long but there were certain seeds i had to plant ;) this club life was much better than the first though, eh? but i guess it isn't fair to say that bc i was never planning on making this a plot-heavy fic, but here we are :P
> 
> also recently ive just been wanting to write a jerome/rob spinoff about how their relationship got to the point it's in in this fic, maybe after this is all over, eh? :P
> 
> thanks for reading! <333


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! i am really sorry for the delay in posting this chapter! i have been supremely busy like a lot of you! i had a match today and it was a comfortable 2-0 win, glad for the clean sheet. also the game vs hannover was fantastic, so glad we dominated it!
> 
> that match against ajax was mental! i was going to make the trip to amsterdam but it was too expensive for me. but the red cards, the fouls, the goals, what an entertainingly shambolic game! loved it!
> 
> this chapter is some stuff and then setup for the incoming STENO! i know all you filthy steno shippers just can't wait to sink your jaws into some juicy drama, don't worry, i will provide!! love you all! <3

_Private chat between Manuel Neuer and Miroslav Klose_

**Manu:** Hey Miro?

 **Manu:** Would it be okay if I called you now?

 **Miro:** Hello Manuel

 **Miro:** Yes of course

 **Miro:** I will jsut put my children to sleep 

 **Miro:** Ein Moment

 **Manu:** Sure

Manu sat back on his bed, taking a deep breath and setting his phone down in front of him as he tried to relax. It was nine o'clock and the house was unusually quiet. Thomas was downstairs in front of the TV, eating dinner and watching one of his favourite American shows, whilst Manu half tried to pay attention to  _Deutschland 83_ on the TV in the bedroom. It was one of those nights where they left each other to their own devices, and Manu was grateful for it- it offered him the perfect opportunity to finally, finally talk to Miro.

In his rage following the match against Dortmund, Manu had been too busy stewing in bitter thoughts about his defenders to remember he had planned to call the Lazio striker. But now he had somewhat cooled off and had little to think about, the idea had returned to him. It was time to start sorting things out. Otherwise he was liable to end up murdering somebody.

It took a while for Miro's call to come, probably because his kids were difficult to put to bed. The first thought Manu had had when he had first met the two boys had been-  _German, hyperactive and enjoys football? Watch out, future Fips of the future generation._ They were lovely, funny kids but it was terrifying to imagine another two absolutely crazy boys growing up to become part of the team. Luckily he'd probably be retired by then.

Finally, Manu's phone started to ring. But he didn't pick it up straight away. He stared for a moment at Miro's name on the screen, fighting back his nervousness, before he swiped right.

Miro's face flickered on the screen. It was almost calming to see him squinting at Manu, clearly at a loss once again about all things technology.

"Manu?" he said, waving into the screen. "Hello, there! Can you see me? Can you hear me?"

Manu chuckled organically for the first time in a while. "Yeah, Miro, I can see you and hear you, don't worry. Hi."

Miro looked somewhat relieved and leaned backwards. 

"I think that's possibly the first video call I've ever had that's not broken down in the first five minutes," he said with a grin. "One call with Mario took about twenty minutes to get going because I didn't know how to reroute my Wi-Fi, and his instructions involved wires I had never even heard of. Sylwia usually deals with that stuff for me."

"That sounds about right. But it's not that hard, Miro, you're not living in the 19th century," Manu laughed. "Luckily for us this call has started off smoothly. Just don't press any buttons, alright?"

"I'll keep myself under control," Miro chuckled. "So, Manu, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call? I saw the game versus Dortmund, by the way. I'm sorry about those goals conceded, you put up a good performance."

Manu couldn't really get angry about  _that_ game being brought up. He just shrugged.

"Yeah, well, some people didn't," he muttered. He knew it was petty, but he just couldn't tolerate mistakes from his back line. "But that's water under the bridge. Water that I'll drown Hummels in if he puts up a show like that again."

Miro laughed. "Same old Manu. Putting the fear of God into the hearts of... well, everyone."

"I'll put more than fear in their hearts if they keep fucking up," Manu grumbled. "I'll put in a fucking knife. Anyway, my violent threats aside, there was something I wanted to talk to you about, Miro."

"Of course," Miro said, inclining his head. "Talk away. Everything going okay?"

Contemplating this question, Manu leant backwards against his bed. "If 'okay' means I've been getting even more angry than usual and stupid shit has been happening left and right, then I'm on top of the world. But something tells me you don't mean it like that."

"I don't," Miro said seriously.

"Oh. Then I'm not okay." Manu was starting to sound as convoluted as Thomas did when he tried to put on a brave front. That was one trait the two of them shared. "It's not even the game that's been getting on my goat, that's just one thing in a long list. I'm still having fucking horrible nightmares. I've just been so close to losing my shit whenever someone talks to me. I get so angry all the time. I think my focus is weaning. And I don't know what to do."

He said all of these words very quickly, and as he said them, he inexplicably felt himself becoming angry.  _Why_ was he angry? Nothing had even happened!

Miro's expression was soft, and that angered Manu even more. But he kept his calm and waited for the other man to respond.

"I'm sorry, Manu," he said gently. "I know it must be terribly difficult to keep your concentration in circumstances like these."

His response was clearly prompting Manu to say more.

"Yeah, it is," Manu said savagely. "It's not fair. Feeling like this. I'm sick of it. I'm fucking sick of it, Miro."

"Anyone would be," Miro said quietly.

"Fucking anyone," Manu said, even more heatedly, gritting his teeth. "Anyone would be sick of it. So I shouldn't keep feeling so shit about feeling like this. I shouldn't be calling myself pathetic all the time. Because I'm not. This _is_ shit. I shouldn't have to deal with this. I shouldn't be just  _enduring_ this fucking nonsense. I should do something about this."

"Natürlich," Miro murmured. He had waited patiently all throughout Manu's ranting for him to get to the point, though he had looked a little concerned when Manu had practically spat at the screen in his 

"So I should probably tell you  _why_ I called," Manu said finally, laughing a little flatly. "Instead of just going on and on."

"You can say whatever you want," Miro said calmly. "Just get it all out."

Manu just laughed again. "Yeah, no. I don't want to drive you insane. So, I called because... well, in the international break, remember that shitshow night? Where I told you I'd think about talking to somebody?"

"I do."

"Yeah," Manu muttered. "Yeah. Well, I've been thinking about that shit recently, and I've made the decision. "

Miro didn't say anything, so Manu continued:

"You know how you said you went to therapy?" he muttered, sliding down against his bed so he was lying down. "I think I want to... try it out."

The look of surprise that stole across Miro's face made him feel even more irrationally annoyed, but he just stuck his tongue between his teeth and waited again. Miro looked as though he was fighting not to smile happily at Manu's words, so as not to be patronising.

"That's wonderful, Manu," he said finally. "I'm seriously glad you've made this choice."

Manu slid even further down his bed like a child.

"I assure you therapy can help," Miro continued. "It might feel slow-going, it might not have an immediate impact, but it can take the load off you, Manu. It's a good process and you don't even have to inform the club about it. It can be entirely private to you and Thomas."

Manu hummed in agreement- that had been another deciding factor for him.

"I called you," he said hesitantly. "Because I wanted to know if you could give me a direct contact. I don't know if I want to trial and error this, I want a therapist who's been proven to be good. Do you... remember your therapist, at all? Was it when you were at Bayern, or Bremen?"

"You're in luck, Manu. My therapist was based in München," Miro said softly. "I went to see him during my starting days in Bayern, when I was  _very_ nervous about starting off at such a big club. He was a lovely man. His name was Hugo Becker. I'll give you his number."

"Do we know if he's still even in commission?" Manu said uncertainly. 

"He is. We communicate on occasion," Miro assured him. "I promise you he's completely trustworthy, too. Nobody knew that I went to see him and he never said a word to anyone in the media, as has happened to a few unfortunate footballers in the past."

This was one of the most important points to Manu, and so he was pleased to hear this.

"Have you told Thomas about your plan?" Miro asked. 

"I will," Manu mumbled. "I haven't really been in a cheerful talking mood recently. But I'll talk to him in a bit and tell him about what I want to do. And then he'll kill me with a hug. But it's better than the alternative."

Miro chuckled. "You're absolutely correct. Talk to Mülli, he'll back you up every step of the way. And I will too. I'm very happy for you, Manu. This is the best way forwards."

"Yeah, well," Manu muttered. "It'd better be. I hope you aren't overhyping this 'therapy'. Watch how it ends up being injury-prone and making me concede."

"It's been tried and tested at the highest level," Miro said very seriously. "I've played alongside it and it gave me plenty of service."

"Let's hope it doesn't end up being another Balotelli," Manu said solemnly.

The two of them shared a smirk. The Italian was definitely on their loathing list after the semi-finals of the 2012 Euros. 

"Thank you, Miro," Manu said eventually, after the two of them had lapsed into quiet. "You've been such a great help. I'll take your therapist's number and talk to Thommy. And then we'll see what will happen going forwards."

Miro nodded, looking pleased. "Almost the perfect thing to do. I wish you luck. Have a good rest of the night. Keep me updated, okay?"

"I will," Manu promised him. "Let's just hope the only news you'll get is good news."

"I have utmost faith in you, Manuel Neuer," Miro said gently. "You can change things for yourself. I know it."

Hearing it from Miro almost gave Manu hope to believe it was true.

***

When Jerome woke up that morning, the one thing he was aware of was  _pain._ His head was throbbing so badly he almost couldn't see straight. The only thing he could do for a solid few moments was groan.

Robert was already awake, and was looking down at him concernedly. Just the sight of his beautiful face seemed to alleviate the pain a little.

"You're still a little hot, but the fever's gone down," Robert told him, feeling his forehead (Robert's touch was also somewhat healing). "You need to drink water and have some medicine. Today's a rest day for you, Jeri."

Jerome groaned eloquently in response. 

"You'll be fine," Robert said with a grin, pressing his lips against Jerome's forehead (As far as Jerome was concerned he was cured, fever who?). "You've got me as your doctor. Wow, I'd be a great doctor. I'd look _so_ sexy in a white coat."

"I... don't think doctors are rated on their sexiness," Jerome said hoarsely, though he privately agreed.

"You're not complaining, though," Robert said with a wink. This was probably why Jerome's temperature increased exponentially in the space of a second.

Unfortunately, it was decidedly  _un-_ sexy, getting Jerome out of bed and upright. Though he didn't quite feel as dizzy as yesterday, he was still very disorientated and his killer headache was not showing any signs of going away. Robert had to help Jerome through everything, murmuring words of encouragement because Jerome looked as though he wanted to lie flat on the carpet and never stand up again. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he managed to get through it all without evaporating.

As Robert helped him to the stairs, Jerome suddenly remembered the events of the last night.

"Shit, Basti," he said. Robert nodded at him. "Oh, man. Do you think he's still passed out? I hope he's okay, what he was saying last night..."

"We'll see, eh?" Robert murmured.

He made sure Jerome didn't fall down the stairs (like he had done so before whilst not even dizzy). When they reached the landing, a strange smell filled their noses. It smelled like...  _breakfast._ _Bacon._ And it smelled  _good._

"Oh God. That's bacon. Just fuck me up. I'm already cured," Jerome moaned, actually increasing in speed to get to the kitchen. Robert rolled his eyes as his perpetually hungry boyfriend suddenly regained his energy at the prospect of food. "What are you cooking, you beautiful central midfielder, you?"

Indeed, when they reached the kitchen, Basti  _was_ there, standing by some pans, making food. Robert inhaled the scent of bacon and felt as though his skin was clearing and his pores were being opened. The midfielder glanced behind him as he heard their approach, and he smiled at them- though it was an incredibly tentative and awkward one. His eyes were bloodshot.

"Good morning!" he said in a falsely cheery voice, holding up the pan to show them what he was making. "I thought I'd make breakfast! As an apology! And a thanks!"

"Basti you're my captain and my only captain and you've got my vote when Fips is out of the way," Jerome said all in one breath, stumbling slightly into a seat. "I love you and you're the best human in the world  _please_ can I have some food."

Robert placed his hands on his hips. "So my pancakes and my omelettes, they aren't enough for you?"

"You're only as good as your last dish," Jerome said wisely. He blithely ignored Robert's glare.

"He's just delirious because of the fever," Basti joked, putting some bacon on a plate and handing it to Jerome. "There you go, Boa, hopefully it makes you feel better."

"Mhhhhfffff you're the best, love you Basti." Jerome started shovelling food in his mouth straight away. Robert folded his arms.

"He seems all cured up now," he said with a scowl.

One second later, Jerome disproved this by setting down his fork and clutching at his head. 

"Ok, rapid arm movement, not good for the head, does anyone have any aspirin or a long, sharp knife to cut my head open with?" Jerome asked, wincing heavily. "I am  _going_ to die."

Robert went to the medicine cupboard to get some pills whilst Jerome blinked very hard, trying to focus his vision. Basti looked back at him in concern as he placed some bacon on a plate for Robert and himself as well and put them on the table.

"Seriously, you okay, Jerome?" he asked, as he drew a seat out to sit down on.

Jerome shook his head energetically.

"I am not," he said, with feeling. "I want to tear my head off." 

Robert came up to the table with a glass of water in his hand and some painkillers. "There you go, Jeri, take these."

Jerome's hand shook a little as he took two of the tablets and a long, fortifying gulp of water. Basti watched him with a slight frown on his face, before noticing that Robert was watching him. He dug his fork into his bacon at once, knowing what was coming.

Jerome was the one who initiated the attack. And he did it when Basti was least expecting it.  The second he put his glass down after finishing his water, he turned to Basti, and said:

"So, Basti, how are you feeling?"

Basti's hand slipped on his fork and it clattered against his plate. He quickly hurried to pick it up again, blushing heavily.

"Oh, you know," he said in a slightly high-pitched voice. And then he conceded. "You're not the only one with a headache, Boa. Oh, guys, I'm  _so_ sorry. I don't even remember much from last night other than drinking a lot and getting into my car. And what I said about Lukas. I could've gotten myself into danger. I'm really sorry that I turned up here and inconvenienced you-"

"Basti, you weren't inconveniencing us," Robert said firmly. "Me and Jeri are happy you came to us, it would've been bad to imagine what you could've done if you had been left to your own devices."

"You've got that right," Basti said, chuckling without much mirth. "God. I was being so fucking stupid. Every time I get drunk I get in my feelings, and every time I get in my feelings I think about doing the unthinkable. Can you imagine if I had actually picked up my phone and had done what I was planning to do?"

Jerome pressed his chin against his hands thoughtfully. "It would have been pretty bad, but, really, do you think Lukas would have just taken it without a word if you  _did_ break up with him out of the blue? I don't think so. Poldi would have flown to London to make you see sense. He would've known straight away that things weren't right. You shouldn't beat yourself up too much, Basti, for what could've happened."

"Jeri's right," Robert said quietly. "Although it would've made for an  _awkward_ conversation when you were sober again, maybe it would have opened both of you up to talk about this long distance arrangement. Not to end it, of course, but to just discuss how you feel about it. Talking is the best bet, Basti. It always works for Jeri and me."

Basti looked at Robert and Jerome's earnest expressions and wondered how both of them could be so...  _mature._ The cynical might call it naivety, being so believing about the worth of talking about things, but Basti thought that the way things worked for them was perfect. Somehow they had found the balance between all the complications a relationship brought. They talked about  _everything,_ and found it weird when others didn't. Perhaps it was because they hadn't suffered from the pains of being long-distance, or perhaps it was because they were genuinely irrevocably in love, and eternally trusting of one another. It almost made Basti want to cry.

"I might talk to him," Basti said finally. He and Lukas weren't bad at talking to one another at all- they were prone to their heart-to-hearts and had cried  _so_ much in front of each other, even before they had gotten together. But they were both proud individuals and neither of them wanted to feel like they were burdening the other. Basti was the most guilty of this.

"I think you  _should,_ " Jerome encouraged him. "Come on, Basti. You and Lukas are too old and too wise to be skirting around your feelings. Lukas would appreciate it if you let it all out to him, I know he would. A bit of healthy discussion never killed anyone."

This was undeniable and Basti couldn't think of a counter-argument.

"Every time I feel like breaking things off," he murmured instead, stabbing his fork into his bacon aggressively. "I feel sick. Like, the idea of it makes me want to throw up everything in my system. That's a good thing, right? The fact it's the last thing I'd ever want to do?"

"Of course it is," Robert chuckled. "It shows that you still love Lukas with all your heart and your relationship is still incredibly strong. But the fact that these thoughts are crossing your mind and making you feel this way, it shows that you really need to work through these feelings instead of enduring them.  _Talk_ to Podolski, Basti. That's really the only solid advice we can give, at risk of sounding like a broken record."

"You're both right. Damn it," Basti mumbled. "The tables _have_ turned. I remember when Jerome was coming to  _me_ for advice about you, Robert. _He_ wasn't on the talkingtrain, that's for sure. Damn hypocrite. He didn't want to talk to you at all."

Jerome looked indignant. " _Au contraire,_ I did want to talk to Robert- I just didn't know how to."

"At training and gatherings I'd come up to you to try and get in a conversation and you'd choke," Robert said reminisciently. "Luckily you're pretty gorgeous- I would've given up on anyone else that hell-bent on being incapable of talking."

"Hey! I'm not liking you both coming for me," Jerome said with a pout. "I can talk to him  _now._ "

Robert blew Jerome a kiss. "Now try and do a press conference without collapsing on me afterwards."

"That's  _actually_ a difficult one," Basti said fairly. "Journalists with their cameras and phones and microphones, they're fucking animals. I don't blame Boa for being nervous around them. Miro used to find it difficult to talk to them as well."

"Shy German players," Robert said thoughtfully. "You know, only Jeri has been shy out of the Germans I've interacted with. And Hector. The rest of them are so self-assured it's bizarre. I can't really imagine an  _unconfident_ German. You all seem to think you're fucking gods."

"What can I say?" Basti said, flexing his muscles. "I  _am_ known as the Fußballgott, after all."

"Yeah, yeah," Jerome said airily. "Why don't you actually one-up me and earn some of that confidence by becoming a  _Talking Gott?_ That'd be a lot more impressive."

Basti scowled. These two really weren't going to let him breathe. But he knew they were right. He and his love needed to do what they did best- becoming stronger. And the only way to do that was by talking to him.

***

" _T'es fou,"_ Olivier said in awe, for the third time that afternoon. 

He was sprawled out on Bernd's sofa, with Mesut sitting on the armchair next to it with his feet up on the coffee table without a care in the world. Bernd had tried smacking the midfielder's legs off, reminding him that this was  _not_ Mesut's house, but of course he had been paid no heed. Lukas was not here, because he had things to do with his Sunday, as did Nacho. As he looked at his two... guests, Bernd was beginning to regret his decision-making once more. The sensation was his constant companion, so depressingly familiar to him.

He was crouched in the middle of his living room, a suitcase thrown open on the carpet, with various piles of clothes lying about. Bernd's first debate had been about how big his suitcase should be. He had no  _idea_ how long he was going to be in Barcelona for. He had the week off no question, but was he going to  _stay_ there for a week? In his spur of the moment decision to buy the ticket in the first place, he hadn't actually considered... returning.

His second debate had been with Olivier. Though Mesut and Sami had been impressed with his decision to risk everything by going to Barcelona, the French striker most certainly  _wasn't._ He was convinced that Bernd was making a huge mistake.

"Think about it!" Olivier said, throwing his hands up after Bernd staunchly told him about the importance of being an  _adult_  when dealing with somebody, and that meant talking to them."You are just  _swanning_ over to Barcelona, wholly convinced your... associate, ter Stegen, will be receptive towards your advances. But what if he isn't? What if he denies you? What if he thinks you have some nerve, or doesn't share your feelings? What will you do then?"

"Stop being so negative," Bernd said stubbornly in return. "It's good to have hope, Olivier."

" _C'est ridicule,_ " Olivier sighed. "I am not meaning to be negative, or to make you anxious. I just wished you had used your head a little before charging into recklessness. I don't want to see you getting hurt!"

Mesut, from where he was busy typing away on his phone, just sighed. 

"We're the German National Team, Oli," he said firmly. "I don't know how many times I have to tell you this, but we're not calm and collected like your French team is. Our plans are half-assed concoctions made in the spur of the moment. We shoot blindly in the dark and hope we find our target. We don't think things through."

"Thanks, Mesut," Bernd said, with a pair of jeans in his arms. "For your faith in my plan."

Mesut gave Bernd a thumbs up.

"You," Olivier said to Mesut. "Are useless. You are meant to be here for moral support and yet you are texting. Some friend you are!"

"You're not exactly making him feel warm and cosy inside either," Mesut shot back. "Telling him he's going to be rejected and everything."

"I am simply trying to make Bernd see that he should've thought things through more clearly-"

"But he's already made the choice, he's already going to Barcelona, what's the point of lecturing him about it? You should be giving him advice about what he should do when he gets there, now."

"Guys!" Bernd cut in before Olivier could respond. "Don't start fighting on my behalf. Mesut's right, Oli, I've made my choice and I'm sticking with it. It might be the stupidest thing to do in the world or it might be the smartest thing to do in the world. We'll find out, won't we? I don't want to be left in suspense, I just want to see this thing out until the end."

He threw a white T-Shirt into the suitcase, because he personally thought they showed off his arms quite nicely.  _Not_ that that was important. 

"Hm," Olivier said dubiously. "I suppose you are right. I  _have_ been an advocate of you opening up to ter Stegen, though in a different way. Maybe this could end up well. The only way we can find out for sure is if you plan your approach accordingly. None of your German...  _improvisation._ "

"Our wordplay is unmatched," Mesut said mulishly. "We're full of genius shit-talking and manipulation."

"You're right about shit-talking," Olivier said disdainfully. "But no, Bernd, ter Stegen is not a common barbarian like Mesut, or Marco Reus. You cannot just throw out lewd flirtatious remarks and hope for the best. Ter Stegen seems like... a sensitive soul. Appeal to his romantic side."

"That's boring," Mesut said idly. "Tell him you want to sink balls into the back of his net."

" _Incroyable!_ " Olivier exclaimed, as Mesut chortled to himself and sent off a message to Sami informing him of his great euphemism. Bernd fell forwards into his suitcase. "You have about as much class as a boar in rut."

"You want to  _engage_ the guy, not send him off to sleep talking about  _feelings,_ " Mesut said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice, as if he truly cared about giving good advice. "Make your feelings known straight off the bat. He'll be interested in  _that._ "

Bernd felt a little nauseated. "With all due respect, Mesut, which is none, the last thing I'd ever do is take advice from  _you._ "

Mesut shrugged as Olivier looked triumphant.

"Exactly," he said passionately. "What Mesut just told you to do is the exact opposite of what you  _should_ do. It's the exact opposite of anything anyone should do, unless you're Marco Reus. You really need to be clever about this, Bernd. Getting ruled by passion and love is a very French thing to do, and I have always been inclined to believe you Germans were more... calm. Evidently I was wrong, but the advice I have for you is the same either way- don't be an idiot and don't get riled up if he does not initially respond to your advances. He might have defence mechanisms built up from all the years you have spent insulting each other."

"That's fair enough," Bernd muttered. "He'll keep trying to roast me badly, I can sense it."

"That's just Marc-Andre," Mesut said fairly. "He gets nervous and tries to defend himself so he doesn't make himself vulnerable. Granted, he actually makes himself _more_ vulnerable with the shit that comes out of his mouth sometimes.

"For once, I agree with him," Olivier said. "Ter Stegen, from accounts I have heard, is not cool and suave. He will get flustered. What I think he'll fall for is the calm, cool Bernd who doesn't feel any pressure-"

"Which Bernd is that?" Mesut enquired. Bernd almost wanted to hear the answer to that himself.

"Be totally calm. He will find it sexy. Be like Thomas Shelby, from the English TV show, the one with the confusing accents but the gorgeous men.  _Peaky Blinders._ "

Mesut guffawed. "Bernd could never pull off levels of sexiness like that. But Oli's kind of right, you know. Cillian Murphy is an undeniably sexy man, and the energy he has would probably make Marc-Andre's knees turn to jelly. Maybe you should try and emulate that."

"Like this." Olivier stood up and walked over to Bernd, taking purposeful yet calm strides. Bernd stared up at him as he began to speak. "Hello, Marc-Andre. It's been a while. So, are we going to talk?"

Perhaps it was just because Olivier was naturally sexy, but it  _was_ rather impressive. His voice was completely even, his face relaxed, his eyes never breaking away from Bernd's face. Bernd stared up at him and wondered if the advice had any merit. Perhaps he needed to start practicing his acting skills-

"Yeah, right," Mesut snorted. "You can pull it off, Oli, because it's you but have you  _seen_ Bernd? Knowing him, he'll go up to Marc-Andre, start giggling, and say some stupid shit."

"Who is making him feel warm and cosy inside now?" Olivier said exasperatedly.

"Shut up, Mesut," Bernd said confidently. "You know what, I think I could actually pull that off. That relaxed look, it's purposeful but not too desperate. It shows I want to talk but not that I'm clinging onto my last hope for our friendship."

Stretching luxuriously, Mesut shrugged his shoulders. "Well done, Olivier. When Bernd goes to Barcelona thinking he'll look as impressive as Messi does on the ball and ends up looking like Lukaku, I'm sure he'll look back on this little group advice session and feel  _really_ grateful towards you."

"Yes, because your approach was  _far_ less idiotic," Olivier intoned. 

"Listen, guys," Bernd said firmly, because it looked like the precursor to a fight. "You guys have so little faith in me. I'm not going to be  _relying_ on your advice, it's just there to help me. I'm a grown man, I can make decisions for myself and I can most certainly talk to my fellow goalkeeper and... friend by myself."

Olivier and Mesut raised their eyebrows at eachother but both shrugged. It was a reasonable statement, until Bernd followed it up with:

"Now, if you really want to be helpful, you can answer me this- do you think Marc-Andre will find me more sexy in tight jeans or grey jogging bottoms?"

***

_Private chat between Marc-Andre ter Stegen and Leroy Sane_

**Marc-Andre:** My brain in a situation when I should be calm and measured

 **Marc-Andre:** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8rr2nX3F-mM

 **Leroy:**  i nearly fucking died choking on a peanut thnks

 **Leroy:** and oh man

 **Leroy:** i sense an incoming ter stegen freakout

 **Leroy:** what's wrong my guy

 **Marc-Andre:** Oh nothing I feel wonderful!

 **Marc-Andre:** Except I want to fucking retire

 **Marc-Andre:** And leave the country

 **Leroy:** ok marc buddy i'ma call

_Incoming call from Leroy Sane._

_Call failed._

**Leroy:** marc u alive??

 **Marc-Andre:** No

 **Marc-Andre:** Bernd Leno fucking killed me

 **Leroy:** pick up the phone buddy boy

 **Marc-Andre:** I am an absolute fucking mess rn

 **Leroy:** when are you not

 **Leroy:** ur worrying me here my friend

 **Marc-Andre:** You don't need to be worried tbh I'm just an anxious wreck

 **Marc-Andre:** I can't call because I'll die but I can tell you everything

 **Marc-Andre:** And everything is this:

 **Marc-Andre:** Bernd is coming to Barcelona in like two days to talk to me irl about all our issues recently and it's fucking murdering me bc i just CASUALLY agreed as if I knew what I was going to say to him but now he's going to come to Spain and it's going to bet errible and idek what I'm going to do

 **Leroy:** EXCUSE me?????????????????????

 **Leroy:** you kept this quiet?????????????????????????????????

 **Leroy:** bernd's just COMING to barcelona??????????

 **Marc-Andre:** please don't capitalise the word 'coming'

 **Leroy:** you fucken degenerate

 **Leroy:** that should NOT be your biggest concern rn

 **Marc-Andre:** I'm sorry I'm not in a good place

 **Leroy:** you've got that damn right

 **Leroy:** wtf the fuck

 **Leroy:** how is he just goignt o barcelona to have ur big showdown

 **Marc-Andre:** He just is

 **Marc-Andre:** Just like that

 **Marc-Andre:** And I agreed to this madness and now I'm dead

 **Leroy:** i can't believe

 **Leroy:** that i DIDN'T know about this

 **Leroy:** im ltetially laughing ur life is such a shambles

 **Marc-Andre:** Don't laugh Leroy I'm literally dead

 **Marc-Andre:** Grieve for me

 **Leroy:** bro this is just bonkers

 **Leroy:** how have u guys just not talked face to face all this time and then he's just casually hopping on a plane

 **Marc-Andre:** Fucking ask him

 **Leroy:** shall i actualy?

 **Marc-Andre:** No you fucking meat loaf I was being ironic

 **Marc-Andre:** Don't say anything to him

 **Marc-Andre:** I literally have no clue what to do idk how many times I've said this but it still stands

 **Marc-Andre:** I think I may acc cry

 **Leroy:** ok it's shocking but is it that deep?

 **Marc-Andre:** IS IT THAT DEEP?!?!?!?

 **Marc-Andre:** MAYBE NOT AS DEEP AS THE WATER I'M GOING TO DROWN YOU IN!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Leroy:** ok no i didn't mean it like THAT

 **Leroy:** i mean it like, is it that bad that bernd's coming to talk to u

 **Leroy:** sure it's going to be awkward as hell

 **Leroy:** and ur most likely going to be an indistinguishable pile of goo

 **Marc-Andre:** THANKS A FUCKING BUNCH LEROY!!!

 **Leroy:** let me finish my speech marc-andre 

 **Leroy:** yes it'll seem really fuckin like bad

 **Leroy:** but you guys have talked SOOOOOOOOOOO mcuch

 **Leroy:** ur probably just doing what u do best

 **Leroy:** overthinking things

 **Marc-Andre:** YES BUT THIS IS SOMETHING TO OVERTHINK ABOUT BECAUSE TERE'S SO MUCH PTO FUCKING LOSE

 **Marc-Andre:** IT COULD BE A FUCKING CATASTROPHE

 **Leroy:** anything could be a catastrophe

 **Leroy:** ur relationship thing is already a catastrophe

 **Leroy:** hoensstly i think it will be fine u just need to calm ur nerves ++ then u will be a-okay

 **Marc-Andre:** I will shoot your mother at goal

 **Marc-Andre:** That's the worst advice I've ever heard

 **Marc-Andre:** U r just telling Marc-Andre ter Stegen to calm his nerves

 **Leroy:** what do u want me to say

 **Leroy:** fucking stress until u have a heart attack?

 **Leroy:** im not gonna tell u the way u handle things is good lol

 **Marc-Andre:** Ohhhhh my lordttttt

 **Marc-Andre:** Bye i'm going to move back to germany

 **Leroy:** don't be a pussy bitchboy

 **Leroy:** fuckin face bernd down

 **Leroy:** show him who u are

 **Leroy:** ur a lit keeper and a lit person and if he wants to talk to u u fuckin tlak to him back

 **Marc-Andre:** I cannot comprehend how things got to this level of bad

 **Marc-Andre:** Can we just fucking go back to the days where we just roasted each other

 **Marc-Andre:** There was nothing substantial about THAT

 **Marc-Andre:** No anxiety or stress at all

 **Marc-Andre:** I had SO much against him

 **Leroy:** bro are you a pussyo

 **Marc-Andre:** No

 **Leroy:** then you'll stop stressing and face this on head on

 **Leroy:** u can't stay stuck in the past always gotta move forwards

 **Leroy:** u never know maybe ur past self drowning in wine and love will finally be indulged

 **Marc-Andre:** Drowning in wine there's a good idea

 **Leroy:** did u ignore every other word in that sentence

 **Marc-Andre:** I saw the word "wine" and my course was set

 **Leroy:** don't u even fuckign thing about it

 **Leroy:** being inebriated is for fuckin COWARDS

 **Leroy:** face your angst whilst SOBER

 **Marc-Andre:** Nein das ist langweilig

 **Leroy:** du bist ein angst-hase

 **Marc-Andre:** What else is new

 **Leroy:** u need to fuckin be at the top of ur mental game

 **Leroy:** don't just dissolve for the next two days

 **Leroy:** train like u do for games

 **Leroy:** analyse past conversations and think about all u know about ur opponent

 **Leroy:** get the upper hand

 **Marc-Andre:** It's not a fuckin fight

 **Leroy:** it's an angst-fuelled confrontation

 **Leroy:** ofc it's a fukin fight

 **Leroy:** u gotta be the winner in this mental sparring match

 **Leroy:** i know it's like trying to make a hazard out of a morata but u gotta shape up ur back-and-forth game

 **Marc-Andre:** It's not a roast either

 **Leroy:** maybe it's not a roast but us till have to be able to reply quickly and cleverly

 **Leroy:** i don't want to see a pathetic marc-andre

 **Leroy:** ur gonna fucking ANNIHILATE him in spoken conversation

 **Leroy:** ull be level-headed and not overreact 

 **Marc-Andre:** How about I fucking stop global warming as well

 **Marc-Andre:** And make Schalke a respectable side along with it

 **Leroy:** ok don't come for my old club

 **Leroy:** but ur gonna fucking do it ok

 **Leroy:** it's not impossible

 **Leroy:** it's just another conversation between u and bernd

 **Leroy:** uve been running circles around each other for so long

 **Leroy:** now u have a chance to end that

 **Leroy:** u don't want to prolong things, do u?

 **Leroy:** end this shit once and for all for the better and the worst

 **Marc-Andre:** Now you're treating me like a mercenary sent out to stop a war

 **Leroy:** well u are stopping a war

 **Leroy:** a war of whom can be the most stupid and emotionally incompetent

 **Leroy:** save ur team from ur two's nonsense

 **Marc-Andre:** That's pretty fair and hurtful

 **Marc-Andre:** Okay Leroy

 **Marc-Andre:** I will make a half effort to not forget how to speak German when I see him

 **Leroy:** i suppose that is the best i could hope for

 **Leroy:** i'll cautiously have more faith tho

 **Leroy:** u love him still, marc-andre, i know it

 **Leroy:** but don't let that love rule your words

 **Leroy:** make sure you find the best for yourself in this conversation, okay?

**Marc-Andre:**

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a fairly short and badly written chapter because it's mostly setup. sorry for the delay and not so climactic return!!! but things are on the horizon!!! mark my words!!!!
> 
> thank you all for reading, love your comments so much, thank you thank you thank you!


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus, jeder! we're here with another chapter, the 35th to be exact! and 100 kudos, im so happy 100 of u think this shit is readable! it's time for another dedication! this one goes to GreenSardonyx! thank u for your thoughtful comments on all the chapters!!! <3  
> thanks to everyone else too!! i am reading every word you guys write, i promise!!!
> 
> let's jump right in!

Jerome was doing an afternoon work-out in the centre of the living room when his phone buzzed. The first time around, he was too absorbed in his excercises and the music he was blasting to notice it. Robert was scrolling through his Instagram feed on the sofa so he didn't notice it either. However, the second time Jerome's phone buzzed, Robert glanced up from a picture of Federer in Africa and leaned forward to pick it up.

"Jeri," he called out, as Jerome stretched his calf back. "You've got a message."

"Who's it from?" Jerome said absent-mindedly, as he extended his leg as far out as it could possibly go. "If it's Marco, I won't reply."

"It's not Marco, it's Höwedes," Robert said, checking the name on the notification. 

Blinking in surprise, Jerome returned his leg to the ground. "Really? Toss it over here, Rob, let's see what he said."

"I'm not going to toss it, you lazy oaf. Don't you remember what happened to my phone last time? Come over here," Robert said impatiently, holding it out to him. Jerome sighed and walked over to snatch it from his hands.

"Benni, Benni," Jerome muttered absentmindedly, trying to use his thumb to unlock the screen, only to have it fail so he had to type out his password instead. "What have you got to tell me? And Rob, will you stop changing the thumb recognition on my phone? You're not funny, you fucking sardine."

Robert grinned contentedly as he settled back to look at his feed again.

Jerome went to his conversation with Benni, muttering about his boyfriend's 'sense of humour'. What he saw made his eyebrows raise.

_Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Benedikt Howedes_

**Benni:** Jerome?

 **Benni:** Are you there?

 **Jerome:** yeah whats up?

 **Jerome:** you all good?

 **Benni:** I'm fine

 **Benni:** I just wanted to tell you

 **Benni:** In training today there was an incident

 **Benni:**  Your brother injured himself pretty badly

Jerome paused with this thumbs over the screen, staring down at it. Robert glanced up from his phone, noticing his change in demeanour immediately. It was like a sixth sense to him.

 **Jerome:** what

 **Jerome:** what happened

 **Benni:** He broke his foot

 **Benni:** It looked bad

 **Benni:** The medical team are taking care of him but it looked almost mangled

 **Benni:** He got into a fight

 **Jerome:** jesus

 **Jerome:** of course he got into a fight

 **Jerome:** what happened?

 **Benni:** Well he was in a bad temper

 **Benni:** Naldo got irritated with him for being kind osf nappy and unfocused

 **Benni:** Prince thought that he was insulting him and got really mad and said some stuff

 **Benni:** Then he hurt his foot in a challenge against someone else

 **Jerome:** fucking hell!

 **Benni:** I just wanted to tell you in case you wanted to call him

 **Benni:** The injury looked bad

 **Jerome:** i don't have his number or anything

 **Jerome:** he wouldn't want to talk to me anyway

 **Benni:** He's your brother

 **Benni:** You should call him

 **Benni:** 0151238383292

 **Jerome:** thanks for telling me benni

 **Benni:** No problem

Jerome looked up from his phone and at the number on his screen. He had deleted his brother's contact details many years ago and they had barely spoken for that time, barring the matchdays against Schalke, which were most  _certainly_ not warm brotherly meetings. Jerome knew for a fact that Kevin- or Prince, that was how he liked to be known- would not be partial to hearing Jerome calling him after his injury. In fact, Jerome was almost certain that the man would probably hang up on the spot.

Robert had stood up from the sofa, looking at Jerome with a very concerned expression on his face. Perhaps Jerome's dilemma was showing in his face- he suddenly felt a lot more anxiety.

"You alright, Jeri?" he asked worriedly. "You look like you just got news someone died. What did Benni say?"

"It's Kev-Prince," Jerome corrected himself. "He's apparently broken his foot. And he got into a fight. Benni said it looked bad."

Realisation dawned on Robert's face. He knew a lot about Jerome's fraught relationship with his older half-brother. Jerome had cried enough in the past about hurtful words and lost memories and cold silences. There had been one night when Jerome had shown Robert a box full of photographs featuring two smiling boys and Jerome's childhood that Robert could not match to the two men he saw occasionally together on the pitch, or to what he had heard Jerome's older brother say in the past.

"Are you going to call him?" he murmured. "You don't have to. You're not obligated to talk to him, you know."

"He's my brother," Jerome said hesitantly. "And he's hurt." 

"Just because he's family doesn't mean you have to be connected to him still. He said as much to you himself," Robert said softly. Jerome winced.

"He didn't mean it when he said that. He was angry," Jerome said almost pleadingly. Robert just looked at him sadly. Jerome's tears after the first Bayern-Schalke clash with the brothers playing had been before they were in a relationship, but had still hurt Robert deeply nonetheless. Any of Jerome's pain hurt Robert.

"He's not kind to you, Jerome. You've never been cruel to him. You should just send him a text to see if he's okay, and he can choose whether he wants to call you or ignore your text. I don't want to see him hurting your feelings again," Robert said reasonably. Jerome hesitated. "It's your choice, but I'm just saying you shouldn't feel pressured into doing it."

Jerome gnawed on his lip, battling with himself. Robert was right, but Jerome loved his brother. He wanted to make sure he was okay. A dispute shouldn't stand in the way of that. He made his decision.

"I'll call him," he said, and Robert nodded understandingly. "He probably won't even answer."

"Okay, Jeri. You do that," Robert said gently. He squeezed Jerome's outstretched hand.

Robert watched as Jerome pressed on the call button of Prince's number and held the phone to his ear. For a moment there was silence, and Jerome almost hoped that it would remain that way, that his brother's phone was off. But then the phone began to ring.

The space between each of the rings was almost agonising. Jerome stared at Robert the whole time, who stared at him back with a reassuring smile on his face. Upon the fourth one, Jerome decided that there wasn't going to be a response, but then there was a clicking sound, and a voice sounded through the line.

"Who is this?" 

Jerome swallowed. His brother already sounded angry and it had only been about two and a half seconds. Granted, his voice was never particularly... inviting, when talking to Jerome. Jerome had to remind himself that his brother had just suffered a broken foot and was most likely in a foul mood. That combination would probably not make for a diplomatic conversation. He had to remember that when they talked.  _Don't let it be like the last time._

"Prince?" Jerome said calmly, trying not to sound too tentative. The good thing about him was that he had always been able to keep his cool. "It's me, Jerome."

There was a good deal of silence. Jerome wondered if he had already hung up. But then:

"Why have you called?"

The confrontational edge to his tone could not be ignored. Jerome knew immediately that he had to keep level no matter what happened.  _Don't let yourself get angry. Don't let yourself get hurt. Don't let Rob see you break again._

"Because... Benni talked to me today," Jerome said flatly. "He told me... about your injury today. That it was bad. I wanted to call and... and..."

He faltered off. He could already feel his reasons for making this phone call dissolving under the waves of barely suppressed anger travelling through the air. He glanced at Robert before focusing on the floor again.

"And what?" Prince's voice was cold. "You wanted to ring me and show me your brotherly concern? Is that it? Höwedes texted you with his good fucking intentions and his captainly worries and the oh so moral Jerome decided to be the bigger man and call me?"

"No," Jerome said steadily. "All I wanted to do was to make sure you were okay."

"You should have saved your fucking breath," Prince snapped. "I don't need you to call me and I don't want you to. I don't want you to ask me stupid fucking questions about whether I'm okay and tell me bullshit about not being reckless, and taking care of myself, and wishing me luck. Because the  _last_  person I'd want to hear it from is you."

Jerome took a deep breath as sudden anger rushed through him.  _Stay calm._ He's _just angry because of his injury. It's a bad injury. Don't take it personally._

"Okay, Prince," Jerome said calmly. "If that's how you feel, that's fine. All I wanted was-"

"You _knew_ it's how I felt," Prince said angrily. "You've known it for years. You don't have to do this, Jerome. You don't have to pretend you care-"

"I do care," Jerome said in a low voice. The injustice of this stung. "I wouldn't have called if I didn't-"

" _Spare_ me," Prince spat. "You just feel guilty because I'm your  _brother,_ you're sentimental and you don't want to look bad by not  _checking up_ on me. You couldn't give a flying fuck what happens to me at any other point. You're too focused on your own  _successes,_ with your fucking boyfriend and good results. And you know what? I'm okay with that!"

"That's bullshit," Jerome said quietly. "Fucking bullshit. I'm the one who's been worrying about you every time you do something stupid,  _you're_ the one who doesn't give a good god damn anymore."

" _Anymore?_ I've  _never_  been labouring under the delusion that we have to be close  for the  _cameras,_ or for your sense of  _sentimentality_ , so you shouldn't either. You keep trying to  _reach out_ and you don't realise that I don't want to, even though I keep fucking  _telling_ you to stop trying." Prince drew a breath, perhaps letting the words sink in so they could hurt more. "You understand what I'm saying, Jerome? Or do I have to fucking spell it out for you?  _Stop trying!_ "

"You're injured, you're angry, I understand that I'm not the person you want to hear from-"

"You're  _never_ the person I want to hear from! I don't know why you thought you were! Because you want to try and make me feel bad?"

Jerome put his hand to his face as Robert looked at him in concern. 

"Hang up, Jeri," he said quietly. Jerome held up a hand and after a few moments, he spoke.

"All I wanted to do," he said to his brother in a shaking voice, blinking as hard as he could. "Is see if you're okay. Because I'm not fucking heartless. I don't hold a grudge against you. _You're_ labouring under the delusion that I have some ulterior motive for not wanting to completely disinherit my brother-"

"And that's really admirable, you putting up with  _mean,_ _hot-headed_ Prince, the asshole out of the brothers, showing that you're the better person than me.  _I've told you how I feel!_ I've told you the same thing over and over again, and if you don't want to listen, then you shouldn't fucking cry as if I've hurt you. It's your fault."

"You're deliberately trying to antagonise me," Jerome intoned, taking a deep breath. "I'm not falling for the bait. You can say whatever you like to me, just know I'm not going to throw things away. I hope you get better soon."

Prince just laughed. "Okay. Same old Jerome. You're never going to change, are you?"

Jerome broke.

"Why are you  _like_ this, Kevin?" he yelled, goaded past endurance. It was the way he had said it- so  _dismissively,_ as if it didn't matter in the world, as if Jerome was  _nobody,_ that had pushed him to the edge. Robert looked alarmed- Jerome rarely shouted. " _Why?_ I haven't done anything to you, anything at all! It's your own fragile ego thats been injured in all of this! You're too fucking proud to accept any sort of well-wishes from your own brother!"

"Why am  _I_ like this? Oh, humble little Jerome. How could I possibly have hurt your feelings? What possessed me? Why don't I get onto my knees and beg for your forgiveness, because I owe you  _that_ much?" Prince laughed derisively. "We chose our paths long ago! I'm sticking to mine! And I'm fucking hanging up. Thanks for your  _well-wishes._ Don't fucking call me again."

"Go, then!  _Go!_ " Jerome roared into the phone, and actually hurled his phone onto the sofa with such viciousness it was a surprise it didn't crack, and immediately fell forwards into Robert's arms. Robert had only heard some of the yelled words, and from Jerome's words, he could piece together what had happened.

"Oh, Jeri," he murmured, running a hand through Jerome's hair as the defender's silent tears soaked through his shirt. "I'm sorry."

Jerome shook his head as he cried. "I  _hate_ him! I hate him so much! I've never done  _anything_ to him! I should have never called him!"

Robert continued to stroke him. "It's okay. It's not your fault."

"It is my fault!" Jerome gasped. "I always,  _always_ think that things will be different with us! I always hope that maybe he still loves me a bit, but every time he does shit like this! I don't know what I did, Rob, I always try and be nice and calm but he just tears me down. What happened to my big brother who punched the racists on the street and kicked a ball with me? What  _happened?_ "

"It wasn't you," Robert said quietly. "Kevin isn't... He doesn't seem like he's in the right place. He has had things rough. But that _doesn't_ mean he should take things out on you."

Jerome buried his head deeper into Robert's chest. "I just want my big brother back. We were so close until we weren't! And now he acts as though he loathes me. As if he never loved me in the first place. He acts like I've hurt him, like I don't care about him. But he knows I do. He knows it hurts me. Why is he being so cruel?"

"I don't know," Robert murmured. He couldn't imagine his sister treating him like this. "All I know is that you don't have to let him twist things in your head. You've tried to talk patiently to him. You're not obligated to listen to what he says. You're not a bad guy. I can't tell you to forget about him because I know how much you love him. But I can tell you... that..."

He hesitated. He didn't really know what to say.

Jerome raised his head. His eyes were very red.

"I'm  _not_ going to let him fucking play me around like this anymore," he said fiercely. "Just because he's my family doesn't mean he can walk all over me. I'm fed up with this. I'm fed up! He can stay injured for all I care!"

He dropped his head forwards again. Robert wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, closing his eyes. As reasonable as Jerome's words sounded, he had said them many times before, and Robert feared that Jerome would never stop being hurt by his brother.

***

_Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Sami Khedira_

**Mesut:** yoooo i kind of think bernd's gonna die uno

 **Mesut:** he's leaving for barcelona tomorrow

 **Sami:** I'm not fucking surprised imagine being in his place

 **Sami:** Dunno what the kid was planning on doing when he got there

 **Sami:** Are you going to take him to the airport?

 **Mesut:** nah

 **Mesut:** oli offered but he said he had to go alone

 **Sami:** He's got balls he can go alone

 **Mesut:** he didn't wanna make himself more nervous

 **Sami:** Big Bernd can manage

 **Sami:** Tho how much do u wanna bet he's going to turn up at ur door in a few hours saying I CAN'T GO

 **Mesut:** i've already bet it with oli that he'll _not_ pussy out because i believe in mein bruder 

 **Mesut:** im sure hes just the right amount of reckless

 **Sami:** I believe in him too he won't be a little bitch you'll get that money.

 **Sami:** He's gonna do it

 **Sami:** But what a step to take

 **Sami:** Does Lukas know about it yet?

 **Mesut:** bernd told us not to tell him

 **Mesut:** idk why because he probably would've given better advice

 **Sami:** Exactly him and Basti went through the same thing

 **Sami:** I got no idea why he came to YOU 

 **Sami:** Tf could you offer

 **Mesut:** ok don't get too overexcited

 **Mesut:** i can be quite good at giving advice

 **Sami:** Press [x] to doubt

 **Sami:** Ur the least motivational person I've ever met

 **Mesut:** i'm a captain

 **Mesut:** i push my men forwards to victory

 **Sami:** More like you push them closer to the edge

 **Sami:** I'm surprised u didn't push Bernd to a state of existential crisis when he was freaking out

 **Mesut:** ok honestly i think oli was worse

 **Mesut:** oli was explaining in detail why his plan was stupid

 **Mesut:** i encouraged him to seize the moment

 **Sami:** You told him to tell Marc he wanted anal sex

 **Mesut:** and oli's 'sensitive, romantic' confession nonsense was better?

 **Sami:** Yes

 **Mesut:** all i'm saying is i'd be much more straightforward

 **Mesut:** if i wanted to confess my love i'd do it outright none of this overplanning  business

 **Sami:** I feel sorry for the person you'd confess to

 **Mesut:** they'd be fucking over the moon

 **Mesut:** imagine me confessing my love to u, knowing the mighty mesut looks on you favourably

 **Mesut:** no higher praise

 **Sami:** It'd be like missing out on Manu and getting Lee Grant instead

 **Mesut:** that doesn't make sense but it was rude so a fuck you to you

 **Mesut:** im great

 **Sami:** When I met you you could barely string two words together 

 **Sami:** Where did all this unearned confidence come from

 **Sami:** Wait nvm the team we play for

 **Mesut:** uNeArNeD cOnFiDeNcE

 **Mesut:** ok mr khedira

 **Mesut:** jUvE bEsT cLuB iN eUrOpE tHiS yEaRs oUr yEaR bYe mAdRiD

 **Mesut:** *coughbuffonredcardand4-3aggregatecoughcough*

 **Mesut:** wait. shit.

 **Sami:** Mes, darling

 **Mesut:** don't

 **Mesut:** i take it back juve are european kings

**Sami:**

****

**Sami:** First leg

**Sami:**

**Sami:** Plus second leg

**Sami:**

**Sami:** Equals 10-2 aggregate in the UCL round of 16!

**Sami:**

**Mesut:** bye

 **Mesut:** i fucking hate u even tho i knew it was coming

 **Mesut:** i hope you have a terrible day

 **Mesut:** i literally want to cry ur the worst 

 **Sami:** Bye!! <3

 **Mesut:** get fucked 

 **Sami:** But we're not you and we're not facing Bayern anytime soon 

 **Mesut:** die

 **Sami:** Arsenal have already done that x

 **Mesut:** if there's one person i'd never confess my love to it's YOU

 **Sami:** I ain't losing any sleep over it honey

***

_Private chat between Bernd Leno and Olivier Giroud_

**Bernd:** hi i want to CRY and DIE

 **Olivier:** What is wrong mon ami?

 **Olivier:** Wait. I don't know why I even asked.

 **Bernd:** took the words straight from my fuckgingf filthy mouth

**Bernd: i cant go to barcelona.**

**Olivier:**  One moment

_Private chat between Olivier Giroud and Mesut Ozil_

**Olivier:** _screenshot:_

**_[Bernd: i cant go to barcelona]_ **

**Olivier:** L'argent s'il te plaît

**Mesut:**

_Private chat between Olivier Giroud and Mesut Ozil_

**Olivier:** Ok I'm back, sorry, hello

 **Olivier:** Talk to me, Bernd

 **Olivier:** What has scared you?

 **Bernd:** uh... everttghing in my disgusting heathen life

 **Bernd:** im a human being who should just live in a fucking igloo away from society

 **Bernd:** let alone go to barcelona to confess my love

 **Olivier:** What happened to the Bernd who spoke of seizing the moment?

 **Bernd:** lukas got into my head

 **Bernd:** he was the one who made me take this batshit crazy decision not me

 **Bernd:** he's fucking in love with basti since the dawn of time he doens't have a fuckigngnn clue about how it would work with us

 **Bernd:** u were saying to me before don't do it and u were RIGHT

 **Olivier:** Ok, I chose my words badly

 **Olivier:** I said it was a reckless move to take because it was risky

 **Olivier:** I wasn't necessarily saying it was wrong

 **Bernd:** that is literally exactly what u were saying

 **Olivier:** No I don't agree

 **Bernd:** _screenshot:_

**_[Olivier: Personally I think you're making a huge mistake_ **

**_Olivier: You should have more carefully considered this]_ **

**Olivier:** Opinions change

 **Bernd:** oli

 **Bernd:** i'll just shred my ticket and move to iceland

 **Bernd:** it's a simple plan

 **Olivier:**  Allemands ne sont pas pitoyable

 **Olivier:** Vous êtes courageux

 **Bernd:** the only word i understood was courageux so thats a no from me

 **Bernd:** i can't do it olivier

 **Bernd:** this could potentially be one of the biggest moments in my life

 **Olivier:** Which could go wonderfully 

 **Olivier:** Having tunnel vision will not help you

 **Olivier:** Be the Bernd who was brave enough to stand tall in the face of our mockery 

 **Olivier:** Be the Bernd who was brave enough to confess

 **Olivier:** All it is is last minute nerves

 **Olivier:** I have had games where I suddenly feel 'i do not want to be here'

 **Olivier:** But then I feel, although there is something to lose

 **Olivier:** There is something bigger to win

 **Olivier:** Do you play to draw? 

 **Olivier:** Non!

 **Olivier:** You play to win! You don't play it safe!

 **Olivier:** You push forwards even if it leaves your back line exposed because you need to get the winning goal!

 **Olivier:** You do not park the bus!

 **Olivier:** Play to win his heart!

 **Bernd:** yeehaw anxiety 

 **Olivier:** I write all of that and your response is 'yeehaw anxiety'

 **Olivier:** What even is 'yeehaw' what does it mean?

 **Bernd:** it's an amareancan thing which i think expresses a sort of blind show of joy which hides the pain?

 **Olivier:** What is 'amareancan'?

 **Bernd:** i severely mispelled american

 **Bernd:** ok oli i was reading what u said

 **Bernd:** i do think it is big match nerves

 **Bernd:** and there is a chance to get something good out of this

 **Bernd:** however it does not change the fact that i am fucking terrified

 **Bernd:** would it be better to just not know

 **Olivier:** Listen. Credit where credit is due

 **Olivier:** Normally you deserve none.

 **Olivier:** But it cannot be denied that this time you were exceptionally brave for setting your feelings into motion like noone else does

 **Olivier:** To set all this up means you have to finish it

 **Olivier:** Marc-Andre is expecting you to say something and if you leave him hanging he will end your friendship

 **Olivier:** You remember he said that to you? You told us?

 **Olivier:** He said if you didn't get to the point it was over

 **Olivier:** If you pull out of this, if you leave him waiting for you to arrive in Barcelona, there is no chance for you two

 **Olivier:** You know that right?

 **Bernd:** you're right

 **Bernd:** i can't lose him like that

 **Bernd:** i have to do it

 **Bernd:** he won't tolerate me fucking around anymore i have to stop being a pussy

 **Olivier:** What is the term Americans use?

 **Olivier:** We have knew?

 **Bernd:** we been knew

 **Olivier:** Ah

 **Olivier:** Then-

 **Olivier:** We been knew 

**Bernd:**

****

**Bernd:** im absolutely certain tonight will be a restful, peaceful night <3 :)

 **Bernd:** but thanks oli

 **Bernd:** ur way better than mesut has ever been in my life

 **Olivier:** My pleasure

 **Olivier:** Sweet dreams Bernd

 **Olivier:** Make sure you actually do sleep so you don't have eye bags in the morning. They aren't attractive

 **Bernd:** shit ur right

_Private chat between Olivier Giroud and Mesut Ozil_

**Olivier:** _screenshot:_

**_[Bernd: but thanks oli_ **

**_Bernd: ur way better than mesut has ever been in my life]_ **

**Mesut:** that arschgeige is lucky i even talk to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew! this one was a toughie, i've been v tired by training recently. but happy tired! 
> 
> can i just talk about the champions league draw??? what the fuck, football god? do you just want me to die this year? group stage crashout at the WCs and now a ro16 crash out at the UCL?? fuckign fantastic! i'm kidding, we should be fine, but it's gonna be a toughie. i'm going to watch the home game!
> 
> i thought i'd add another plotline to the mix of plotlines- the boateng brothers! theirs is a fascinating story and i have to categorically state that the stuff i've written is purely for dramatic effect i'm sure they're not at all this hostile and dramatic irl but this is a fanfiction notorious with playing fast and loose with the rules of existence so i'm sure u know all that already :P i remember when in germany it became a huge drama, wondering how kevin-prince and jerome would react to each other on the pitch when they met during the 2010 world cup... in this he's in schalke still. i've had some serious drama with my older sister before and we're not on speaking terms at all anymore so (:
> 
> the first segment reads way too quickly for me and seems ineffective. sorry i always have to say shit like this it must be so annoying but yall cant stop me :)
> 
> if u guys are mad this chapter wasn't the actual showdown, don't be!
> 
> there's still another chapter incoming. :P


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus jeder! wie geht's?
> 
> i can sense you guys are close to fucking murdering me so... here we are! this is the one all of you drama goblins have been waiting for! the big one! i feel like this is gonna be a disappointment. but you all asked and i fuckin answered! 
> 
> here we go!

_Private chat between Lukas Podolski and Mesut Ozil_

**Lukas:** have i lost my fucking mind or has bernd disappeared off the face of the planet??

 **Lukas:** texted him didn't get a response, called him didn't pick up and he literally didn't answer me at all yesterday

 **Lukas:** went to his apartment because i needed to borrow something off of him and he wasn't there?

 **Mesut:** oh right lukas!

 **Mesut:** we should have probably told you

 **Mesut:** it's not that big tho

 **Mesut:** bernd is just going to barcelonato confess his love to marc-andre

**Lukas:**

**Lukas: care to expand?**

***

Whilst Mesut was expanding on everything Lukas had missed over the past week or so, anxiety was expanding in Bernd’s heart. As he sat down in his aisle and placed his rucksack between his legs, he scanned the inside of the jet and, to soothe his anxiety, reminded himself to keep in mind that planes had parachutes.

_ They might come in handy,  _ he thought, as an air hostess smiled at him as she made her way through the aisles. She was wearing a kind expression, as if she thought he was scared of flying- he  _ was _ probably looking a bit pale and shaky. But her assumption, in fact, was quite the opposite of his predicament. He wanted to  _ stay  _ flying,  _ forever.  _ It was the landing part he was worried about.

The flight would be around two hours long, possibly quicker given that for once in England’s miserable fucking life, there was a clear sky and a shining sun outside. The good weather seemed to be mocking Bernd as he stared at the light sparkling against his window. It was almost as if it was  _ telling  _ him, ‘watch out for the calm before the storm’. He was certain that was what the message was. The ease in which he had gotten through airport procedures, the lack of last-minute crises or realisations that he had forgotten something vital at home… it was all the precursor to a disaster, he knew it was. When was it ever not?

_ Well, fuck off out of my life, universal foreshadowing,  _ he thought savagely to himself.  _ I’m going to get to Barcelona and sweet-talk Marc-Andre into loving me and there won’t be a fault. By the end of today, or this week, or maybe this year, I’ll be the happiest person on this godforsaken planet. We’ll be free of the ‘Mesut and Sami’ label and I’ll be able to focus all my energy on roasting  _ them  _ instead. _

This aggressive self-motivation was somewhat helpful and he settled  _ almost  _ comfortably back into his seat as the onboard staff floated around checking to see if everyone was okay. The woman who had given Bernd a reassuring smile before returned to his aisle again.

“Hello, there, sir, everything alright?” she asked in a smooth British accent. Bernd was decidedly not smooth and British and so he hurried out a response that was barely coherent.

“Yes of course I’m  _ wunderbar  _ thank you very much ahaha!” he squawked.

The lady was still smiling at him as though he was pitiful. Bernd was inclined to agree with her non-verbal conclusion about him. When he had checked his reflection in the mirror that morning, he had almost had a heart-attack on the spot. Despite Olivier’s warnings, he had terrible eye-bags because, as he had expected, he had not gotten a moment of restful sleep and had ended up in his living room at three in the morning, doing press-ups whilst watching  _ Gute Zeiten, Schlechte Zeiten.  _ He had tried his best to look vaguely presentable, but he had not had much success. He wished the woman would stop reminding him of it with her gentle gaze.

She leaned towards him conspiratorially. He looked at her, nonplussed.

“Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I’ll cover you. Nobody will notice you. North London is red, okay? You’ve got a fan in me.”

Utterly bewildered, Bernd stared at her for a few moments before he realised what she had said and that she clearly thought that he was nervous about being  _ recognised _ on the plane. That worry was far from his mind, however he was somewhat touched by this display of consideration.

“Vielen Danke, miss,” he said with a weak grin. “Nord London… ist rot. Yes.”

She winked at him, mouthing,  _ Gunners for life,  _ before walking off to attend to her duties. Bernd blinked to himself before returning his gaze to outside. Now his thoughts were all in a jumble and he was wondering how many more Arsenal fans were likely to be on the plane, and then he was wondering about the percentage of football fans compared to non-football fans, and then he was off on a tangent about fans in general and how they ran the gamut between pushy and intense to nice and friendly and-

_ Marc-Andre’s waiting for you in Barcelona. _

This thought cut through all the others like a hot knife through butter and was so sudden it barely even registered impact with him at first. And then his distracted contemplation drew sharply to a halt and suddenly he was not bouncy and fidgety, but stock-still.

Another hostess was demonstrating the use of oxygen masks and the likes but Bernd was a million miles away. He was staring so hard at the exterior of Heathrow Airport that his eyes were watering. All that travelled through his mind was the realisation that today was the day. Since  they had been  _ teenagers _ he and Marc-Andre had been stuck in this constant dance around each other, both of them never stopping for a breath but both of them coming closer to collapsing each and every second. Was today really going to be the day where that ended?

He wanted things to work out. He wanted to have a happy life with Marc-Andre. But the fact of the matter remained that their interests conflicted. They were both fighting to be Germany's number one, to get the same spotlight Manu now had to himself. It could only be one of them and that was a fact. Some might say it was silly to place football over love, like Bernd had been doing for years now, but football was Bernd's life and if you took it away he was nobody. He was ambitious and in a selfish way, he wanted to be the one who remained in people's minds. He was sure Marc-Andre felt the same way.

It could not be ignored that he had felt a great deal of bitterness towards Marc-Andre in his lifetime. His love had often been replaced by fury and often he had questioned himself about  _ why  _ he loved the man. Too often he had wished for Marc-Andre to fail, he had felt jealousy and hatred and no matter what Lukas said to him about valuing relationships over personal desires, that competitive spirit was why he was a footballer, no? Could they really surmount these obstacles?

_ Don’t ask that fucking question now,  _ that little voice in his head snarled at him.  _ You’re already on the plane. What’s the point of having self-doubt now, you sardine? Get to Barcelona and work out the rest from there. You’ve done enough contemplating. _

This was undeniable. Bernd held onto the arms of his seat as he felt the plane begin to vibrate around him. This was it. It was going to set off into the sky and he wouldn’t be able to hop out. It was his own fault for charging recklessly into it all, just like Olivier said, but it was too late for regrets. Things were changing, and he had to embrace it, not shy away.

He tipped his head back against his seat, clenching his jaw. The turbulent sensation he was experiencing had nothing to do with the plane’s movement. He watched Heathrow roll away out of the corner of his eyes and then felt the swoop of his stomach as the plane suddenly jerked upwards, heading into the open air. He watched the city slowly begin to shrink away as the plane rose higher into the sky, his chance to turn back dissolving away.

Soon, he couldn’t see anything but blue. The seatbelt signal popped up, indicating he could remove it, but he didn't regard it. He didn’t regard anything but the endless sky stretching out around the plane. And then he clenched the sides of his seat so hard his knuckles turned white, and nodded to himself.

No more anxiety. No more doubts.

It was time to meet his fate.

***

_ Marc-Andre was annoyed. There were a multitude of reasons for this sensation, but as per usual, one was bigger than all of the others combined. After else, who else could inspire such frustration out of him other than Bernd fucking Leno? _

_ "I’m going to tell you this one more time, though you probably won’t listen  _ again,  _ because you’re a dick,” he said sharply, to the boy who was sprawled out across the sofa in their suite and was ‘watching’ a Spanish TV advertisement (really he was just trying to annoy Marc-Andre by showing no interest in what he was saying). “If you keep throwing your stuff onto my bed, I’m going to throw each belonging out of the window. One by one.” _

_ Leno, who had not regarded him as he had entered the room, continued to disregard him. _

_ Marc-Andre thought he was going to snap and it had only been around six seconds. “Hey! Fickfehler! Are you even listening to me?” _

_ “No,” Leno said flatly, his eyes flickering up to where Marc-Andre was standing and flickering back to the TV again. “Did you say something, ter Stegen? It’s difficult to hear somebody so small, I’m sorry.” _

_ Righteous fury welled up in Marc-Andre- but he wasn’t going to drop to Bernd’s level and resort to petty insults about heights. He marched in front of the TV and held out his arms, making sure his breadth covered every inch of the screen so Leno couldn’t see anything and focus solely on him. The rival goalkeeper, whom Marc-Andre had been forced at gunpoint to room with because the coach had wanted similarly oriented players together, sighed, rolling his eyes. Marc-Andre  _ wished  _ he had been allowed to be room with Mario. _

_ “I said,” Marc-Andre said slowly, enunciating each word. “If you keep throwing your things onto  _ my  _ bed, I’ll throw them out of the window.” _

_ Leno’s lips quirked up at the corners and he looked amused. This was possibly the most infuriating sight Marc-Andre had ever seen. “Cool. Do it.” _

_ “You’re really trying to test me?” the seventeen year old goalkeeper in front of the TV said threateningly. “After all the dickish things you’ve said and done during this tournament, you really think I won’t do it?” _

_ “That’s right,” Leno said simply, still grinning like a fucking bastard. “You’re too much of an Arschkriecher to actually try something like that. You’re scared the Coach will get mad and get rid of your starting position.” _

_ “No I’m not!” Marc-Andre said indignantly. “The Coach wouldn’t bench me, ‘cause I’m way too good for that, and he knows  _ you’re  _ his second option so he doesn’t want to have to resort to that. The only reason  I haven’t clocked you in your ugly face yet is because Mario’s always stopped me.” _

_ “Well, he’s not here now,” Leno said slyly, gesturing around at the empty room. “Go on, then. Throw my stuff out of the window. I  _ dare  _ you.” _

_ Marc-Andre floundered on the spot, staring at the smirking Leno. On the one hand, the keeper was somewhat correct in his assertion that Marc-Andre was scared of losing his starting position if he got into trouble. On the other hand, he was such a smug, arrogant, annoying idiot that Marc-Andre was half compelled to pick up his suitcase and fling the whole contents of it outside. _

_ “Alright, then,” Marc-Andre declared forcefully. “You’ve tried my hand. I  _ will  _ do it.” _

_ “You’re such a nerd,” Leno snorted. “Who says, ‘you’ve tried my hand’? Pissnelke.” _

_ “Right!” Marc-Andre was enraged. The sheer audacity of Leno’s entire existence had filled him with such indignation that he could not stand still any longer. “You- you watch, you stupid, annoying, idiotic, Schlappschwanz-” _

_ He stormed away from the TV and towards Bernd’s bed, where Marc-Andre had unceremoniously chucked the stuff that Bernd had tossed onto  _ his  _ bed. Leno was still lying on the sofa, watching him warily, now unsure on whether he had been correct in his assumption that Marc-Andre would be too much of a pussy to actually carry out his threat. _

_ Marc-Andre scooped up a huge armful of clothes, along with the cans of strangely aggressive deodorant that all boys in the under-17 team possessed. He held the objects at length and stormed over to the window. _

_ “It’d probably do you good to get rid of them anyway, they’re hideous!” he yelled, forcing the window open. Leno leapt to his feet and hurried over to Marc-Andre, now realising he had made a mistake. _

_ “Ter Stegen!” he shouted, pointing his finger at his arch-enemy. “If you actually do it, I’m going to kick you into goal so hard you’ll break your ugly face!” _

_ “Who’s the ‘Arschkriecher’ now?” Marc-Andre said triumphantly, relishing in the panic on Leno’s face. He gestured out to the open window, and the car-parks outside the training ground. “Say that I’m a better keeper and I’ll show you mercy.” _

_ Leno looked like he would rather swallow his football boots whole. In fact, he said as much, but in a much ruder manner. _

_ “Oh, well,” Marc-Andre sighed theatrically, pretending to be disappointed. “You had a chance to redeem yourself in my eyes, but now I have to exact my judgement upon you. Shame, really!” _

_ “DON’T YOU EVEN-” Leno yelled, but it was too late. The damage was done. Marc-Andre had relieved himself of the weight of Bernd’s things by hurling them out of the window. He watched them fall down onto the ground below, grinning savagely to himself, and then his gaze turned to Leno. _

_ The goalkeeper looked stunned, as if Marc-Andre had just shot his mother in front of him. But his surprise was quickly replaced by a savage fury. _

_ “YOU-!” Leno bellowed, and he sped towards Marc-Andre like a bull. _

_ Marc-Andre was tackled to to the ground, and the two of them rolled around wildly, trying to pull at each other’s hair, yelling at the top of their voices- words about family members, goalkeeping ability, personal appearances and choice comments about each other’s personalities flew around as they both tried to punch each other. They were flailing so much neither of them could get a good shot in, though Leno was trying his level best to break Marc-Andre’s nose. _

_ Eventually, the racket they were making must have been heard from someone from outside, because the door flung open and in rushed in Mario G _ _ ö _ _ tze.  The striker looked completely bewildered for a moment, and then he saw the two boys rolling around on the floor and sighed to himself. He hurried over to separate the pair, struggling particularly with the bigger and stronger Bernd. _

_ “Jesus!” Mario said, as Marc-Andre stumbled to his feet, very red in the face and looking rumpled. “You two again! What are you trying to kill each other for this time?” _

_ The two of them spoke up at the same time. _

_ "He was being a fucking prick and he pushed me to my limit so I did what had to be done-” Marc-Andre hollered. _

_ “He’s the worst human in the world and he threw my stuff out of the window and I’m going to fucking kill him!” Bernd yelled back. _

_ Though the incomprehensible gabbling from the two of them had Mario completely nonplussed, he managed to discern the details after a moment of careful listening. He managed to stop Bernd from getting in another hit and pointed forcefully towards the door. _

_ “Both of you are unbelievable!” Mario said crossly. “I’ve never met two people who were needlessly at each other’s throats more! You guys just can’t stop! Bernd, go downstairs and get your stuff. Marc-Andre, you stop being so childish!” _

_ “ _ I’m  _ childish-?” Marc-Andre began in abject disbelief, but he was stopped by a look. Bernd pointed forcefully at him, his face twisted in fury. _

_ “I hate you!” he shouted. “I hope you concede an own goal and I never want to room with you again because you’re the worst!” _

_ “Likewise!” Marc-Andre bellowed back. Leno turned on his heel and stormed from the room, cursing at the top of his voice, while Marc-Andre yelled several choice words in return. _

_ Mario had his hands on his hips. “Honestly, if I ever end up having to deal with another pair like you two, I’m going to retire from football early.” _

_ Marc-Andre was too angry to smile back at him and stormed off to mope as Bernd’s dulcet tones from down below rung through the window. _

The older Marc-Andre was startled by the slamming of the door- it was as if Bernd had just stormed out of the room and flung it shut in anger. He jumped out of the stool he had been sitting in whilst lost in reminiscence, and whipped his head around wildly to see if there was an intruder in the house. And then he realised the garden door had swung shut because of a gust of wind.

He relaxed, laughing a little nervously to himself as he sank back down again. He had been extremely jumpy and nervous all throughout the morning, and he had not relaxed over time. He had in fact been a rocket of anxiety, ricocheting off of the walls, ever since he had opened his eyes that morning. His phone had buzzed about six million times throughout the day with reassuring messages from Leroy and, inexplicably, messages from Lukas, but he hadn’t looked at them. The last thing he wanted was to have someone else make him feel more nervous about it all. He kept to his own thoughts.

So he had ended up sitting by his kitchen counter for… a while, actually. He wasn’t sure when he had actually sat down here, but it was two o’clock now and he was sure it had been much earlier when he had dragged his feet into the kitchen. He didn’t particularly mind, though. Better to lose himself for a bit than be acutely aware of everything around him like he normally was when nervous.

For some reason, the memories of him and Bernd spitting at each other hadn’t served to make him feel more trepidation. Instead, he had felt a little more relaxed. Fighting was all the two of them had really known. Sure, there had been times where they had joined forces against a shared enemy, and had laughed together, but really, arguing was their main forte. It was the norm- the two of them were too volatile to be mature and respectful. He was almost… looking  _ forward  _ to sparring with Bernd again?

_ Maybe don’t get too hasty,  _ he thought to himself with a smirk.  _ You know you’ll turn to jelly when you see him. But maybe it won’t actually be as catastrophic as you’re expecting it to be. Maybe you should take Leroy’s advice. _

There was a thought he hadn't expected to cross his mind, ever. But it wasn’t as though it was completely wrong.

He took a long, deep, controlled breath.  _ Chances and opportunities. That’s what your relationship has been with him so far, and nothing more. You missed your chances to be friendly, you threw away your opportunities to bridge the gap you created between each other. So life is offering you one last big one, wrapped up in nice paper and a ribbon just for your benefit. There’s only one question- will you be able to open it? _

He nodded to himself vigorously. Of course they would. They had to.

If they didn’t, well, there was a chance they’d actually lose each other for real.

Just as this horrible thought crossed his mind, something more horrible happened. Something so horrible that Marc-Andre was sure he would never recover from the trauma. It was the type of horror that one felt when they saw terrible things, like war and destruction and Real Madrid winning the Champions League. When it happened, his entire body went stiff, sweat began pouring from him, and his fight or flight response kicked in. He couldn’t  _ believe  _ it.

The doorbell had rung.

And Marc-Andre hadn’t brushed his hair yet.

***

The second the Spanish taxi had stopped by Marc-Andre’s street, Bernd had had half a mind to beg the driver to turn around and return to the airport. For several moments after the man had announced that they had reached their destination, Bernd had remained rooted to the spot, his eyes fixated in horror at the rows of large, pretty houses. 

The weather in Barcelona was beautiful. Really nothing like what Bernd was used to experiencing in Germany or England. But right now, he felt as though a terrible storm had whipped up outside, preventing him from moving an inch from his seat. He was going to have to leave the sanctuary the taxi offered him and he would have to  _ head towards Marc-Andre’s house- _

“Señor?” the taxi driver asked patiently, after Bernd’s several moments of silence. “Hemos llegado. We have arrived. You want to get out?”

_ No,  _ Bernd thought, but now he had no choice. The man was watching him expectantly.

“Sí,” he said awkwardly. He made eye contact with the driver, who was looking bewildered, and then finally made his decision. He moved one leg experimentally, and then the other followed. And then he leaned over to the door.

When it opened, he felt the warmth of the air against his skin, but it did little to counter the sudden chill that had spread across Bernd’s body. He stiffly placed both feet on the ground, then stood up outside the taxi, closing the car door slowly behind him.

The driver was out as well, already at the boot and lifting out Bernd’s suitcase, placing it on the ground before him and smiling pleasantly at him. Bernd responded with a pained grin. He scooped out the correct payment for the driver and placed it into the man’s open hand.

“Gracias,” he said stiffly. The driver nodded warmly at him and turned around to the taxi. Bernd wanted to shout after him to take him back, but soon the man was in his taxi and driving back off to wherever taxi drivers went when they had dropped someone off. Where  _ did  _ they go?

He watched the car go forlornly, before turning his gaze to the street. He knew Marc-Andre’s house number. He knew how to get there. The question was whether he  _ wanted  _ to.

_ Fucking move your legs. _

He obliged, finally managing to get his feet moving again, dragging them across the ground. How was it so warm still in Spain in October? It was madness. Global warming really was a problem. Perhaps he needed to ring his agent right now and declare that he wanted to be seen in several adverts addressing the proble-

_ Shut up, Leno,  _ he thought to himself for the hundredth time that day.  _ Get to his house. Or else. _

Finally, he managed to reach the correct house. Not that it was hard to miss. It was pretty big  _ There _ was number 28 in all its glory, belonging to Marc-Andre- with a Mercedes in the driveway-

_ “You’re a German, and you like driving a Romeo? And you trash Mercedes? Don’t even talk to me,” Marc-Andre said to him in mock horror. “Everything you say is just wrong. I don’t think I’ve ever heard an opinion from you that I agree with.” _

Bernd was frozen as he stood on the front step, staring at the number for a long time.  _ Marc-Andre was in there. He was about twenty feet away from Bernd. _ He didn’t know why it was the sight of the Mercedes that had brought out the emotion in him, but there he was.  _ Oh God. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t- _

_ Move your hand and ring the doorbell!  _ the little voice in his head yelled at him.  _ This is it, this is what you came here for! Do it! _

But Bernd was panicking too hard. He could hardly breathe. Maybe he should call Olivier or Mesut, and ask them for some sort of help- he needed to escape-

_ No!  _ the voice screamed.  _ Ring that doorbell! It’s time! _

No. He couldn’t. No! He could!  He had to do it! Bernd shook his head aggressively and practically dived towards the doorbell. His finger lingered over the button for a good few moments before he finally pressed it. It was time. It was time _. It was time. _

***

Marc-Andre tripped down the hallway, frantically scrubbing his hands through his hair and trying to get it into some sort of order. He wasn’t thinking as he hurtled towards the door, his heart thumping so loudly it blocked out all rational thought.  He leaned forwards against the door with his hand trembling as it rested on the handle- he was almost sure he could feel Bernd’s presence behind the frame.  _ Oh God. Bernd was there. It was time. _

He jumped as the bell rang again.  _ Shit. Shit!  _ He couldn’t compose himself quickly enough. But he had to turn the handle and pull the door backwards.

Bernd was standing in front of him, his suitcase in one hand and a rucksack on his back, staring at Marc-Andre with wide eyes.

For a moment, Marc-Andre was speechless. His swollen heart was restricting his airways and his words had lodged in his throat. The two of them gazed at each other, dumbfounded, not quite sure what they were meant to do.

And then, somehow,  Marc-Andre managed to speak. He wished he hadn’t.

“So you came, are you?” he said in a strangled sort of voice.

And then he died. He withered away. He collapsed on the inside. Bernd’s confused expression was the final nail in the coffin he had built for himself and Marc-Andre just hoped he would end up in heaven for all he had gone through over the years.

“Yes,” Bernd said, after several moments of silence. “I came.”

Marc-Andre nodded. The two of them remained staring at each other, the corpse that was Marc-Andre unsure of what he should do. And then he realised they should probably go inside.

“Uh,” he said eloquently. “Wanna…”

He gestured indoors.

Bernd looked startled at having his opinion be asked, and then he nodded. “Ja. That would be… that would be good.”

“Absolut.” Marc-Andre nodded as well. He was doing a lot of fucking nodding. He hoped he would nod hard enough to make his head fall off.

The two of them entered the house. Bernd tripped over his feet as he stepped into the hallway, but Marc-Andre’s back was turned so he didn’t notice it. The two goalkeepers made their way through the clear hallway and into Marc-Andre’s open living room.

“Nice… room,” Bernd said, as he looked around. He had never actually been here before. Marc-Andre had told him his address a while back in a jokey exchange they had been having- Bernd had declared that he wanted to assassinate Marc-Andre and Marc-Andre had invited him to do so, sending him the address to his home. He had wondered if he could just turn up here one day out of the blue, but had never had the bottle. But he was here now.

There were some photographs about- the team during the Confederations Cup, a picture of the team before the Euros- he looked away at that, the memory of not being chosen was still bitter to him. There was the Barcelona team after their La Liga win, and some individual photos of Marc-Andre and his friends from both his national and domestic team. Bernd gazed at them a little wistfully- there were no photos of them, despite all the years they had known each other.

Marc-Andre led Bernd to a set of sofas in front of a TV. Bernd shrugged off his bag and floundered on the spot, looking for a place to put it. Marc-Andre didn’t notice his predicament and so he settled for placing the bag tentatively on the sofa, and his suitcase… well, he just left it in a place vaguely close to him.

“So… this is my house,” Marc-Andre said with a wide, fake smile. “It’s, um. It’s nice here. Better than back in Gladbach. It helps that I’m in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Nice views and everything.”

“Gladbach  _ is _ a bit of a shithole,” Bernd agreed. “Just like the team was.”

“What did Leverkusen win while you were there?” Marc-Andre asked gently.

“The same amount as you guys did. Nothing.”

The two of them looked at each other warily, not quite sure how to react. The back-and-forth was absolutely nothing out of the norm but it felt almost out of place. Bernd had never quite felt so uncomfortable around Marc-Andre. It didn’t help that both of them were absolutely aware of how much was going unsaid at that very moment.

Bernd tried to test the waters by coughing. Marc-Andre leapt to his feet at once.

“Want a drink?” he babbled. “I have B-Bavarian beer. I got it imported here. It’s really, really good.”

“Absolutely I’d  _ love  _ a beer,” Bernd said emphatically. “A drink is on the top of my wanted list, actually.”

“That’s funny because it is for me too okay I’m going to get it now.”

Marc-Andre hurried off into the kitchen, letting Bernd expel the breath he had been holding. He sat backwards on the sofa, his entire body tense, as if he were expecting a goal to come his way at any moment. His nervousness depleted somewhat however as Marc-Andre returned to him with a six-pack of beers in his hand.

“Here you go,” he said, placing the beers on the coffee table. He took one for himself and offered Bernd one. Bernd snatched it from his hand quickly, trying not to touch him, but they ended up brushing fingers anyway. “You never were one for manners, were you?”

“Why should I show manners to you?” Bernd retorted, very badly.  _ God,  _ this conversation was an omnishambles. He uncapped his beer and drained around half of it in one swig.

Marc-Andre hadn’t expected anything else. He sipped at his beer as if it were tea, having never been quite as vociferous at drinking as Bernd was.

The two sat in silence. It was agonising. Each second that passed by seemed to make the atmosphere grow more and more thick. Marc-Andre was struggling to breathe as he stared down at his slides, while Bernd finished off his beer and placed his bottle on the table. He didn’t ask Marc-Andre if he could take another one- he just took it.

Marc-Andre decided to follow his lead and took a very long gulp of his own drink. It tasted just like what he needed- obstinance and unearned confidence.

“So,” he said finally.

“So,” Bernd parrotted back, finishing his second beer. It was remarkable how quickly he could drink.

“I guess you just came here to drink and sit in awkward silence, huh?” Marc-Andre murmured. “I don’t know why I expected you to be able to just come out with it. It always took you a long time to get to the fucking point, didn’t it?”

Bernd shrugged. “I never know what to say to you. You’re so fucking annoying, you know that, right? You’re the biggest thorn in my side. No, you’re not a thorn, you’re a knife. Twisting in my ribs. Digging deeper as every day goes by. Doesn’t make it easy to say much.”

“Glad to see your Barcelona ticket didn’t go to waste,” Marc-Andre laughed, despite himself. “So you flew over here to roast me. That’s a very you thing to do. That desperate to get one over me, are you?”

“Mm, there you go again,” Bernd said wonderingly, uncapping his third beer bottle. “So infernally convinced that I’m out to get you.”

“You haven’t exactly given me any reason to think you’re here otherwise,” Marc-Andre said reasonably. “I thought you were here to explain your  _ feelings  _ to me. To give me a reason to think that all of this nonsense between us has been leading somewhere.”

Bernd considered this as he tossed back his beer. “You know, you’re right, but what you’re saying also begs another question.”

“Oh? And what’s that?” The words were dripping from his tongue a lot more easily than he had been expecting. It wasn’t even just the beer that was benefitting him in this way- something about the rampant tension in the room was fuelling him on.

“Why am I the only one who’s being expected to do the talking here?” Bernd asked. “You know damn well you have some words to say to me too. But you’re pegging it all on me, wanting me to bear my soul so you have things to hold against me.”

“Ha!” Marc-Andre actually threw his head back and laughed. “That’s the stupidest thing you’ve  _ ever  _ said, and I’ve known you for about a decade. You think I’m going to try and hold what you say against you? Am I actually a child? All I’ve wanted you to fucking do for about five years is just straight up tell me how you actually feel, instead of hiding it all. You’ve been avoiding it for long enough.”

“So have you.”

“But I wasn’t the one who came to London, insisting that we should talk to each other,” Marc-Andre said sharply. “You told me we needed to talk to each other. It’s the whole reason you came here.”

Bernd finished his third beer. “I thought you’d know what I was going to say.”

“So I’m a fucking mind-reader, huh?” Marc-Andre laughed again. “You really are a joke, Bernd Leno. For once I thought you were going to be straight up and honest, but there you are, hiding again-”

“Don’t start _ , _ ” Bernd said, not aggressively, but tiredly. “You know how I feel. You know how you feel. I don’t know why you’re pretending you don’t. You know what we’ve been trying to hide from each other this whole time. You know what our teammates laugh at us about. You know why we haven’t acted upon any of this yet.”

Marc-Andre glared at him. This whole situation seemed to be spiralling rapidly out of control. He was feeling furious.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Marc-Andre hissed. “Say it clearly. Enunciate your words.”

“I love you.”

Bernd’s expression gave nothing away. Neither did Marc-Andre’s. All of a sudden, the two goalkeepers were not sitting on a sofa in Barcelona, but were facing each other after the Fifa Confederations Cup win. Their eyes were bright with the burn of victory, their limbs flinging around uncontrollably as they celebrated, they were incredibly close and yet neither of them could break the barrier between them-

Yet three words managed to break it instantly.

“Why now?” Marc-Andre asked wearily, after several minutes of complete silence. “Why, Bernd? It’s been ten years.”

“You were the one who’s been wanting to hear me say it, and now you’re asking me why I’ve said it. You’re unbelievable,” Bernd said, laughing mirthlessly. “I’m saying it now because... Lukas showed me how much we have to gain and how much we have to lose. I love you, Marc-Andre, and I’m putting aside years of bitterness to say it. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“No,” Marc-Andre said helplessly. His words weren’t sharp at all- quite to the contrary, they were very quiet. “It doesn’t. Things are so complicated between us, Bernd. I’ve wanted to hear you say this for so long, but now you’ve said it, I feel like it’s too hard to deal with. Think about all we’ve been through. All those shouting matches, all that genuine bitterness, like you said. Can we deal with it?”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking all this time,” Bernd chuckled. “But I still flew here anyway. That should give you your answer. This is what I’m willing to give you. The only question is whether you’re willing to accept it, and give it back to me.”

Marc-Andre’s breath caught in his throat.

“I want to,” he said softly. “I want to, so badly. I’ve loved you and I’ve hated the fact that I’ve loved you. You’ve made me cry and rage but you’ve also made me laugh and jump up and down with joy. You drive me fucking insane.”

“And yet you held onto the hope of our friendship even when I was being awful to you,” Bernd murmured. “You’ve never stopped messaging me, calling me, even though I only displayed outwahostility to you.”

“That’s true,” Marc-Andre whispered. “We’ve both been doing that to each other. Loving each other but refusing to love each other at the same time. We really shot ourselves in the feet, didn’t we?”

“I shot every limb in my body,” Bernd said seriously. “But now I want to make things right.”

He took Marc-Andre’s hands. Marc-Andre almost felt his skin burning at the contact, but he didn’t draw away. In fact, he leaned closer to Bernd, so close that their foreheads were touching, their noses connecting…

“What have we been doing?” Marc-Andre whispered. “What  _ are  _ we doing? This is crazy. We’re dodging around so many unanswered questions. We’re not thinking straight, Bernd.”

“Do we need to think straight?” Bernd asked. “Us? Really? Think about it. The last thing we’ve ever been is straightforward. Or reasonable.”

“I love you,” Marc-Andre said firmly. “I love you. I fucking love you.”

“I love you too,” Bernd breathed. “God knows I love you more than I should. More than I want to.”

Marc-Andre closed the gap between them. They kissed. It was almost blinding.

They drew apart again, delirious.

“I’m making a  mistake,” Marc-Andre gasped. “I’m not used to the feeling. How do you deal with making them, Bernd?”

“I keep practicing the same maneuver again and again until it’s perfected,” Bernd murmured back.

“Fuck,” Marc-Andre said almost pleadingly. He couldn’t say anything more.

He didn’t  _ want  _ to say anything more. His hands seized Bernd’s chin and Bernd’s wrapped around his waist, and they fell on top of each other. Neither of them entirely knew what they were doing, but what they did know was that they would work it out together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW! I was GOING to make this a two-parter but i thought thta'd really be pushing my luck :P i cannot lie i absolutely fucking can't stand this chapter it's been killing me i've rewritten it about 6 million times and THIS was the best thing i came out with???? i am so sorry if u guys are disappointed i tried my best to make this good but it prolly sucks at the same time yIKES but there we go anyway steno fuckigngn done did it
> 
> when i'm tired i feel like my english really dips?? i don't really know if this has my usual standard of english hope it's readable :P i hope you   
>  guys managed to enjoy this chapter even tho i hate it! i HATE IT!
> 
> love ya all! <3


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus jeder! this is a really mixed bag chapter, as in there's a lot of different stuff going on so i'm not really sure it links that well together, but i hope u guys enjoy anyway! very glad to hear u lovely lot enjoyed the last chapter!!!

Miro was crying.

He wasn't quite sure why. That evening hadn't been the most tumultous, with Luan and Noah actually content to sit down in front of the TV and watch their favourite show instead of running around the house like maniacs. They had also eaten every bite of their dinner, which was cause for national celebration. Miro had been given plenty of time to himself, and he had thought of consulting the long list of relaxing things to do that he had formulated for himself  _for_ these rare moments of peace, but instead, he had ended up sitting by the kitchen counter, with silent tears rolling down his cheeks. 

It was perplexing. He didn't really  _have_ a reason to cry, he was just doing it.

No, that wasn't precisely true. He  _did_ have a reason for his tears- but it was a somewhat complicated one.

He felt regret.

It was a powerful, almost overwhelming sort of remorse that seemed to clog up his chest and prevent him from breathing freely.  _That_ sensation was why he was crying. The only problem was, he had no idea where this feeling of regret was coming from. He had racked his mind for some sort of clear-cut explanation for it, but he couldn't think of anything. He hadn't _done_ anything. It was genuinely one of the most baffling aspects of Miro's life. Sometimes he could be going about his everyday life, perfectly content, and then,  _bam!_ It was like someone had hit him in the chest with a fist of... guilt.

He wiped his eyes, shaking his head at himself. Usually he shook off the feeling when it came, citing its reason as being something buried within his subconscious, something he couldn't control. But now, with a lot of time to himself and nothing to really think about, he had somehow let it possess him.

He probably needed to find something to do with himself, to take his mind off things. He could do a bit of painting on the new canvases he had bought for himself last week as a reward for scoring in the match. Or he could get to work on fixing the dimmed lightbulb in the boys' room. There were a  _multitude_ of ways he could use his time, and sitting here and crying about some phantom sin he had committed was not one of them.

But he didn't move from the spot. He just buried his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes to try and stop the tears from coming. He failed.

He stayed in that position for a while, letting his mind slip away from him and losing himself in blank noise. His shoulders shook a little as he fought back his sobs. 

But then, the sound of small footsteps instantly dragged him from his reverie. Miro's eyes widened against his hands as he heard shuffling behind him, and then felt a small hand on his back.

He turned around slowly, and sure enough, there was Luan, staring up at him as if he had spotted an alien creature. Behind him was Noah, shifting restlessly from foot to foot, gazing at his father, clearly not knowing what to do. Their sudden shyness when they usually jumped all over their father with no care for his personal space provoked Miro into action.

He brushed his tears from his cheeks and gave his boys a watery smile.

"Hello, boys," he said softly, opening his arms for the two kids. They exchanged hesitant looks, upset by the sight of their Vati crying, but they walked into his embrace nonetheless. Miro scooped them up and placed them both on his lap, cuddling them both close. They were like small radiators, they were so warm and cosy against his arms.

Luan reached out a tentative hand and brushed one of the tears trickling down Miro's cheeks. "Was someone mean to you?"

Miro laughed. "No, Lu. Nobody was mean to me. Vati's... Vati's just feeling a bit tired, today. You know how when you two are tired, you sometimes cry a bit, but you're not really sad?"

The boys nodded solemnly.

"It's just like that," Miro murmured. "You don't need to worry about silly old Vati."

"You're not silly," Noah said confusedly. "You're the smartest Vati in the whole world."

Chuckling, Miro kissed the boy's forehead. "Thank you, Noah. Though I notice you didn't correct me when I said I was old."

"You  _are_ old, Vati," Luan said cheekily, ducking Miro's gentle poke. "You're the smartest and  _oldest_ Vati in the whole world."

" _You're_ the silliest boys in the whole world," Miro sighed, but he was smiling genuinely. "But you're right about one thing. I am old... too old to be crying like this, eh?"

Luan and Noah seemed to be contemplating this carefully.

" _I_ don't think so," Noah said finally. "I think you should be able to cry as much as you want. You never say  _we_ should stop crying, and Luan does it all the time because he's a  _crybaby._ "

"No I am not!" Luan said, outraged. Miro gave Noah a stern look.

"It's true!" Noah protested. Under the force of Miro's most strict expression, he finally gave in. "Ugh, okay, sorry, Luan. But, Vati, you should cry if you want to cry, it's really hard to stop crying when you want to so it must be hard. We don't mind. You can come to us when you want to cry, just like how we come to you!"

Inexplicably, this made more tears spill down Miro's cheeks, and he laughed, covering his mouth with his hand. Noah looked confused, having expected his words to comfort his Vati.

"Did I make you sad?" he asked, looking upset.

Miro hurried to reassure him, stricken. "Oh, no! Not at all, Noah! You've actually made me very happy. These tears are  _happy_ tears. Maybe I'll take you up on your offer, Noah, but for the time being, I'm the one who has to take care of you two silly ducks. But thank you for your kindness."

"We want to take care of you too, Vati," Luan said earnestly. 

"You do!" Miro chuckled. "You make me feel better by being happy and healthy. And eating your green beans. And sharing your toys. But mostly being happy and healthy." 

The boys exchanged looks. It was clear two of the conditions Miro had set forwards to maintain his happiness were a little too challenging for them.

"We can be happy and healthy," Luan said finally. He didn't address the green beans or the sharing.

Miro threw his head back and laughed. Each and every day these boys reminded him in some way of his teammates. That in itself was a rather horrifying thought- but it was also a comforting one. He knew his boys would grow up to be a lot more confident, outgoing and bright than he was now. He was already so proud of them.

"That's enough for me," he said, kissing both of the boys' hair again. "You've made me happy already, look."

He gestured to his face, which was now shining with a real grin. The boys looked delighted at their achievement and tackled their father in a hug. He almost fell backwards in his seat but laughed at their enthusiasm.

When they drew away, they leapt off of his lap. 

"Okay, Vati, the advert for our show should be over now, so we're going back to finish it off!" Luan said excitedly. "Bye!"

"Enjoy," Miro said, grinning and waving at them. They waved at him back before racing each other to get back to the living room. He watched them go with an incredibly warm feeling in his heart, a sensation that weighed more than the inexplicable regret. It made him feel so much better, in fact, that he stood up and stretched out his arms, smiling to himself.

And then he jumped out of his skin as his phone buzzed in his pocket. Clutching his heart and laughing nervously to himself at his own jumpiness, he pulled out his phone to check what message he had received.

It was from Mario. 

_Private chat between Mario Gomez and Miroslav Klose_

**Mario Gom:** What's popping in the HOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Mario Gom:** I'm sorry I'll never say that ever again I'm a terrible person

 **Mario Gom:** Anyway, what you up to worse Bayern striker?

Miro's smile grew bigger, but for some reason, his chest suddenly felt more constricted as well. He had no idea why. It was just Mario. But somehow, that feeling of remorse had begun to creep up on him again.

***

Manu and Thomas were outside in the garden playing basketball when Manu finally,  _finally_ decided to bring up what he had talked to Miro about on the phone. It was only when Thomas punched him for dispossessing him of the ball that he started to speak.

"Thommy," he said steadily, holding the ball over his head so Thomas couldn't try and knock it out of his hands. "I need to tell you something."

Thomas paused in the midst of trying to reach the ball and looked up at Manu in surprise. 

"That's a serious face," Thomas said, drawing his hands back to his side. "Are you alright, honey? Has something happened?"

Manu shook his head. "No, nothing like that. It's not bad, really. In fact, I think you'll end up murdering me in excitement."

"Oh, my God," Thomas said in a low voice, clapping his hands over his mouth. "Don't tell me, don't tell me. You've invested in a Biergarten that you're going to name after me that'll be better than any stupid kebab shop Poldi can come up with."

"What? No!" Manu said, completely thrown for a moment at Thomas' words. "You moron. Why would I buy a Biergarten for you when we've got one about thirty metres away from our house?"

"Because it would belong to me and I would run it and it would be the best hangout spot in München," Thomas said wistfully. "Wow, thanks, Manu. Now I'm just going to be disappointed in anything you tell me. But also I have to put 'get a Biergarten' on my bucket list."

"You're going to feel like a dick when I say this, now," Manu said with a grin. "Would you be disappointed if I told you..."

He hesitated. Thomas looked at him expectantly.

"I talked to Miro," he started, testing the waters. The reaction was immediate and Thomas was already jumping on him in joy. "Jeez, that's not the whole story! You really have low expectations of me, don't you?"

" _No,_ " Thomas said firmly, though his gaze had suspiciously flickered away. "Oh, Manu, what is it, what is it, what is it?"

"You have to promise you won't end up fucking killing me by strangling me with a hug," Manu laughed. Thomas nodded eagerly. "OK. I talked to Miro, and I sort of... Well, I wanted to ask him advice. About... therapy."

The excited noise that came out of Thomas's mouth was so hilariously inappropriate for what Manu had just said that the goalkeeper had to take a pause to recover his breath from laughing. Thomas looked a little sheepish.

"Sorry, carry on," he said, gesturing wildly at Manu. "What did he say? What did he say?"

"Well, he told me that his therapist, the one he had back when he was playing for Bayern," Manu said slowly. "He's still based in München."

Thomas's eyes looked as though they were going to pop out.

"And Miro gave me his number." Manu gesticulated around, so Thomas could appreciate fully what Manu had done. "So, I have the number of a therapist. And Miro said that I didn't even have to tell the club. This guy, he's airtight. He's trustworthy. Won't let a word slip to the media."

Thomas's hands were over his mouth and he looked like he was going to cry. Manu was a little alarmed at how excited he actually was.

"And you're going to talk to him?" he gasped, almost pleadingly. "You're going to call him and talk to him and ask him for a session?"

"Yes," Manu said decisively. "I am. But... I want you to help me with it. Help me figure out what I'm going to say."

Nodding vigorously, Thomas converged on Manu and flung his arms around the goalkeeper's neck, kissing him fully on the mouth. For several moments, Manu enjoyed the sensation, before Thomas drew away and started kissing him all over his face.

"I'm  _so_ proud of you, Manu, I'm going to fucking scream," he said delightedly. "Oh, Manu, my Manu, you're getting help, you're going to get better, you're going to be okay!"

***

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Marco:** guys

 **Marco:** i'm feeling a lack of general activity around this group chat recently

 **Toni:** I was literally JUST explaining my club's tactical setup with Jonas and Fips

 **Marco:** yeah, but nobody cares about your club 

 **Marco:** or you

 **Marco:** i meant activity as in, drama, roasting, etc

 **Marco:** where's twats hummels when you need him

 **Marco:** or ter stegen and leno

 **Benni:** Mats just read your message and he instantly turned the colour of Bayern's shirt

 **Benni:** You know, his club colours

 **Marco:** why isn't the ugly fucker here then

 **Marco:** i thought red attracts bulls or so goes the amusing trope used in cartoons

 **Mats:** we're here for a good time not a long time and if i spend my time talking to you it won't be a good time, will it?

 **Marco:** how very witty

 **Jerome:** i thought that was pretty funny

 **Marco:** yeah well you're going out with lewandowski so your sense of judgement isn't exactly at its peak is it

 **Marco:** schlappschwanz 

 **Toni:** I echo Mats' sentiment

 **Toni:** You just ruined a perfectly good conversation with your nonsense

 **Marco:** your club ruined a perfectly good european competition with its cheating

**Joshua:**

**Mats:**

**Fips:**

****

**Marco:** even fips used the oprah gif that's how u know ur club is shit

 **Toni:** Yeah okay Bayern

 **Toni:** Just because you couldn't beat us on aggregrate and got knocked out, cool :)

 **Toni:** Always resorting to the 'Real Madrid cheat' because YOU guys couldn't beat us

 **Marco:** i'm a dortmund player and i think bayern didn't deserve to go out like that

 **Toni:** You guys just have an agenda against us and that's that

 **Toni:** Jealousy spawns spite, spite spawns lies

 **Marco:** mm ok honey, we're rally jealous of ur league progress now too <3

 **Marco:** how much did you beat eibar by?

 **Toni:** Oh get the fuck out of my life.

 **Leon:** is he wrong tho

 **Leon:** real madrid really do be like that

 **Leon:** they're like a POISON

 **Benni:** Shut up Leon

 **Benni:** You were with us back then so you weren't affected by Madrid

 **Benni:** Trying to act like you were Bayern all along

 **Leon:** and i thought MARCO got salty about transfers ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 **Marco:** you know, benni

 **Marco:** if you weren't hummels' boyfriend and a schalke player we could be good friends

 **Benni:** But I am both, so we remain decidedly NOT good friends

 **Marco:** it's for the best

 **Marco:** your general life profile puts me off you as a person

 **Marco:** hummels' boyfriend, schalke player, two aspects of a person that sends them straight to hell in my books

 **Benni:** Never was there a feeling more mutual

 **Benni:** You play for Dortmund so you're automatically on my list of no-nos for life

 **Jerome:** ur own boyfriend played for dortmund

 **Jerome:** mine did too

 **Mario Got:** i play for dortmund :( i thought we were buddies

 **Benni:** Oh, allow me to correct myself

 **Benni:** People LOYAL to Dortmund are automatically on my list of no-nos for life

 **Benni:** Relatively short list, basically just you on it! 

**Leon: OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH**

**Fips:**

**Fips:** What is the term?

 **Fips:** Benedikt 'popped off'?

 **Joshua:** i physically cringed oh my goodness that malevolent energy benni

 **Leon:** Y 

 **Leon:** I

 **Leon:** K

 **Leon:** E

 **Leon:** S

 **Mats:** THAT'S MY BOYFRIEND!!! MY BOYFRIEND RIGHT THERE!!

 **Jerome:** i showed this to rob and he looked really uncomfortable like i know he wanted to laugh but he was torn so his lips just spasmed a bit

 **Benni:** I'm here all night

 **Mario Got:** so we really gonna be moving like this, huh

 **Mario Got:** you guys are going to be doing me like this for the rest of my life?

 **Jerome:** u'll get to ur wedding day and the priest will go "mario gotze do you take bayern to be your lawfully wedded wife"

 **Joshua:** priest: "any objections?"

 **Joshua:** mario: "yes, me! we gotta move this ceremony to münchen real quick"

 **Mario Got:** i've never done ANYTHING to you guys yet you do THE MOST to me

 **Mario Got:** the constant chain of violations

 **Mario Got:** i'm just a humble boy who wanted to do good things for his career 

 **Leon:** HE JUST ROASTED DORTMUND

 **Jerome:** COULDN'T DO GOOD THINGS AT DORTMUND COULD YOU AHAHAHAHA

 **Mats:** mario, you ALWAYS walk into these traps

 **Mats:** at least i'm up front about things

 **Jonas:** Owwwww I winced :/

 **Toni:** You absolute crisis Mario

 **Mario Got:** oh my lord

 **Mario Got:** you KNOW i didn't mean it like that

 **Mats:** look marco has run away lmao

 **Mats:** it all just got too much to him

 **Mats:** NOBODYS on his side lmao

 **Mario Got:** he's out shopping actually you fuckin demons

 **Mario Got:** he doesn't care about what u idiots say

 **Mario Got:** and he knows u guys are just twisting my words cos that's what people like u do

 **Toni:** Ok, Mario

 **Toni:** You are aware you're probably one of the worst transfers in recent Bundesliga history, right?

 **Mario Got:** no fucking WAY

 **Mario Got:** manu was way worse

 **Manu:** How

 **Manu:** I cried when I left

 **Manu:** It wasn't even a bad transfer

 **Manu:** I did the most for them then I went to Bayern at a decent reasonable time not right before my club's UCL semi final

 **Benni:** Ok Manuel.

 **Manu:** You can't deny that

 **Thomas:** it's true that marios was the worst and thats that

 **Thomas:** even mats's wasn't that bad he was our youth product

 **Mario Got:** wow thanks guys

 **Mario Got:** im really glad u all decided to suddenly gang up on me and attack me

 **Toni:** It's not like they're lying tho

 **Mario Got:** oh ok kroos with ur good rep with bayern

 **Mario Got:** u were too much of a pussy to do a penalty in 2012 MANU took one over u

 **Manu:** It was a good penalty

 **Toni:** I sighed I knew that would come up in this argument and I didn't even know why but it did

 **Mario Got:** sure maybe i was a little suspect 

 **Mario Got:** but im back at dortmund now and thats what counts!!!!

 **Mats:** hmmm wheres your boyfriend he's not exactly rushing to ur defence

 **Mario Got:** I TOLD U HE'S SHOPPING YOU COCONUT

 **Jerome:** my rob's transfer wasn't bad either he came over on a free (:

 **Toni:** Nobody cares about Lewandowski

 **Jerome:** nobody cares about you as a human being

 **Thomas:** if we wanna talk about club loyalty

 **Thomas:** uve got ur guy right here

 **Thomas:** never been at another club

 **Basti:** um??? and me???

 **Basti:** been at bayern literally forever

 **Thomas:** true true

 **Thomas:** me and basti are the ones

 **Fips:** You talk of loyalty, and you don't mention my name.

 **Fips:** I quite literally embody the concept.

 **Fips:** I was BORN in München.

 **Fips:** Basti and I are the two who cannot be faulted. Thomas is slightly too young to be valued like that yet.

 **Thomas:** ok then fips i'll just scoring if i'm not valued, let's see where that gets us

 **Fips:** Ok.

 **Julian B: ♪** can i interject **♪**

 **Fips:** No.

 **Julian B:** jonas is also extremely extremely loyal

 **Julian B:** he followed his team into relegation

 **Julian B:** he's more legendary for köln than lukas is

 **Jonas:** Ahaha that's nice of you but I don't think that's true!

 **Lukas:** it's not.

 **Julian D:** Ok then Loyal Lukas you've clearly remained at one club for your whole career

 **Benni:** Julian, shut up.

 **Benni:** Literally half the percentage of this fucking group chat cannot talk about club loyalty because literally all of them left Schalke

 **Benni:** **I** am the most loyal

 **Benni:** Literally all my friends have left me

 **Mats:** you have me baby!!!

 **Benni:** **Look what I've had to resort to**

 **Mats:** :'(

 **Jonas:** Wow that's actually sad I'm sorry Benni :(

 **Mats:** wow ok then jonas

 **Jonas:** No sorry I was responding to his point about his friends leaving him not the you part!!!

 **Mats:** its ok im kidding 

 **Benni:** It's alright Jonas sweetie.

 **Benni:**  It's the others who should be apologising.

**Manu:**

**Julian:**

**Leon:**

**Leroy:**

**Mesut:**

***

_Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Sami Khedira_

**Mesut:** fuckinf call me

 **Mesut:** im dying of suspense bernd hasn't been answering me or lukas or oli for like ever

_Incoming call from Sami Khedira._

Mesut swiped right instantly, so quickly that it was bound to be a world record. In front of him was Sami, shirtless (though did it matter? Why was he noticing this?) and lying in bed, grinning at him. For a moment, Mesut struggled to remember why he had called.

"Mes!" Sami said thankfully, the second he saw Mesut's face. "What is going  _on?_ I've been at training all day expecting some sort of update, and then you text me saying there  _is_ no update?"

"You've been at training?" Mesut asked in return, momentarily surprised, having assumed that given that Sami had played in a match yesterday he would get a day off. Sami shrugged.

"Well, yeah. Some of us belong to serious teams," Sami said gently. Mesut pushed up the brim of his cap with his middle finger. "But enough about successful clubs, what's happening in Arsenal? Has Bernd been ghosting you guys as well? I tried taking the piss out of him this morning but I didn't receive so much as a 'read' sign. He's disappeared off the map."

Mesut nodded seriously. "He's definitely gone missing. I mean, I wasn't surprised, I didn't think he'd engage with us roasting him just before one of the biggest moments in his miserable life, but I at least expected a one-off text, like,  _I'm in Barcelona, time to die,_ something like that. But we haven't gotten anything."

"Maybe he didn't want to jinx things?" Sami suggested. "I feel like that sometimes. If I'm going into a big match, I don't reply to anyone because I feel like if I see good luck messages, it'll make the match go terribly."

Mesut was surprised by this revelation. "You reply to me, though."

"Oh... yeah, I guess I do." Sami seemed a little confused at himself. "Well, what can I say? Talking to a failure motivates me to do my very best, so I don't end up the same way."

"I cannot  _fucking_ wait for the international break I am  _going_ to place a stick down your throat and out of your ass," Mesut said in one breath. 

"I'm just joking, I'm just joking," Sami said, raising his hands in a placating fashion. "I talk to you because you're my  _good luck_ charm."

"Damn straight I am," Mesut said proudly, making Sami roll his eyes. "I inspire everyone to do their best because people want to live up to my example."

Sami sighed. "I don't know why I went back on what I said before. I should've just stuck with the roast."

"You're getting weak to my charms," Mesut said wisely. "Speaking of 'weak', weren't we talking about Bernd and Marc-Andre? God, I'm dying thinking about what must be happening over there. You should've seen Lukas's reaction to when I told him Bernd had gone over there. I wouldn't be surprised if he's already told Basti who in turn would've told the whole of the team by now."

"So much for letting them navigate love in their own way," Sami snorted, imagining the reaction by the German team if they found out that Bernd had gone to Barcelona to confess his love to Marc-Andre. "I wonder how Fips would react if he found out about all of this."

"Fuck me, das wäre gold," Mesut giggled. "Can you imagine his face?  _In my day, the gays just fucking told each other they liked each other. None of this dancing around each other pretending they didn't like each other nonsense. Marco and Mario are the only traditional gays left._ Mind you, Basti and Lukas were in his day, and they weren't traditional gays. They were just as in denial as Bernd and Marc-Andre."

"Thomas and Manu were traditional gays too," Sami said fairly. "I mean, Thomas isn't exactly the type to flee from his feelings. He faces them straight on. Just like a real man."

"Yeah, Manu is more shy about stuff like that," Mesut agreed. "He's lucky Thomas isn't like one of these idiots in denial. Straight up told him, _I love you._ "

"Jerome and Lewandowski were more traditional too," Sami added. "Of course, Jerome has next to no ability to interact socially with crushes or good looking men, so it took them a while. But they got there in a pretty no-nonsense way."

"Okay, that was  _really_ fucking cute," Mesut conceded. "You see! All of this denial these days, it's preventing good memes and cuteness from blossoming."

"But," Sami said contemplatively. "Can you really say Bernd was in denial? I mean, it seems pretty clear to me that the guy was just hiding it."

"Okay, maybe Bernd wasn't, but Marc-Andre? That fucking goofy sardine?" Mesut laughed. "No way he wasn't in denial."

"True," Sami said wisely. "Ugh. As much as I'm happy that they're breaking down barriers and stuff like that, I can't help but mourn a little for the loss of a great team meme. Who are we going to mock now? Do you think Jonas is secretly gay for anyone?"

"Oh, come on. It's us Germans. There's bound to be a mountain of closets containing some National Team member in there. We'll survive," Mesut said soothingly.

"True." Sami shifted a little in his bed, lying backwards so Mesut briefly got a glimpse of his chest. "God, I wish Bernd would answer one of us and let us know what the fuck is going on. I need my dose of drama."

"Juve not keeping you satisifed?" Mesut asked.

"Not really. We have lots of hard workers in the team, so people like to focus more on actually achieving things," Sami sighed. "You don't understand my pain, Mes, there's nobody like Bernd in  _my_ club. There's no idiots at all."

"You sanctimonious, supercillious-"

Sami blew Mesut a kiss. "Don't start crying, Mes. I'm only pulling your pisser."

Before Mesut could respond, his phone buzzed with a notification, effectively distracting him from the annoyance in front of him. Sami silently thanked whoever it was, not wanting Mesut to go off on yet another rant about how Arsenal was a respectable historical club.

"Sorry," Mesut said, after he had replied to his message. "It was just Oli asking me if I wanted to meet up with him."

A shadow passed across Sami's face.

*** 

_"We won, we won, we won!" Marc-Andre yelled, dancing around in the locker room as the coach let his team run wild. "And I was the keeper who got us through!"_

_Mario rolled his eyes, though he had a huge grin on his face. "We wouldn't have won if I hadn't scored those goals."_

_"But I kept out the equalisers," Marc-Andre said cockily. "I was the team's main event. Everyone saw my talent and they'll be looking out for me, just you wait."_

_There was a sardonic cough from the side. Marc-Andre's eyes travelled to one Bernd Leno. The_ back-up  _goalkeeper was wearing a smirk._

_"Got something to say, benchwarmer?" Marc-Andre asked, cupping a hand to his ear. "I can't hear you over my starting position and my hand in our win."_

_"Yeah, I've got something to say," Leno snorted. "Fuck you. Stop riding your own dick when you conceded. Where's that clean sheet?"_

_"Wrapping your corpse in your early_ grave,"  _Marc-Andre retorted. It was an insult that didn't make any sense, but he didn't care, he was still wrapped up in euphoria and nothing could spoil his good mood._

_"You're a shit person," Leno informed him. "But I guess for today, I can give you a congratulations. Just one. It still stands that I would've kept a clean sheet."_

_Mario rolled his eyes. "Just_ hug  _him, you reprobate."_

_Leno glared at him, but eventually edged towards Marc-Andre with his arms outstretched. Marc-Andre responded in turn, and they shared a very quick hug before letting go of each other and backing away abruptly._

Warmth was all Marc-Andre registered when he woke up with a sudden jolt. This was a somewhat different sensation than he was used to, because normally he had his air conditioning on full blast and his room was constantly kept cool and airy. For a moment he wondered whether he had forgotten to turn it on, and then he turned and found the answer to his question right away.

There was a shape lying next to him, acting as a human radiator. Marc-Andre's breath caught in his throat as he saw Bernd lying opposite him. For a moment, he thought the other keeper was asleep, but then he saw a sliver of white and the blue of Bernd's irises. 

The two of them stared at each other, memories of what had pretty much just happened flooding through their mind. _Good Lord..._ Marc-Andre was uncomfortably aware of the fact that ... he wasn't wearing anything. Bernd didn't seem uncomfortable at all, however. He reached out slowly to rest a hand against Marc-Andre's temple. The movement was tentative and Marc-Andre closed his eyes at the contact. 

There were some moments that were so small they seemed insignificant to an outsider, but really were like the light of stars that never faded away. Perhaps Marc-Andre would one day forget exactly what words he and Bernd had uttered to each other as they desperately clung to one another, perhaps he would forget exactly what he had said before they had fallen on top of each other, but if there was one thing he  _wouldn't_ forget, it was this. The feeling of Bernd's hand caressing his face, the warm gaze of the man he had battled for a decade, the closeness and warmth that was better than any blanket. In all of Marc-Andre's life, he had never felt so palpably content. Sure, there was still a lot to talk about. There was no way in hell they were done with their... conversation, yet. But for now, Marc-Andre forgot all about that, and focused only on the steady breathing and warm touch and closeness of the man... he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i must be absolutely killing you all with mesut and sami's abject nonsense but i have so much fucking fun with these two degenerates that it'll take an international break to stop me from teasing you guys relentlessly :PP i just can't help it they're so fun to mOCK
> 
> teasing plotlines is just my favourite thing. :)
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed! love u all !!!!!!!!!!!<3


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus jeder! frohe heiligabend! it's absolutely crazy how it feels NOTHING like weihnachten and it's TOMORROW, i've been seeing all the grundschulen in the area with their xmas decorations and my boyfriend's little sister was celebrating nikolaustag and advent but here i was just... decidedly not FEELING the spirit. i hope you guys have a good day tomorrow if i don't get to post a chap tomorrow! jeez the timings of this fic are all wrong i could've done an xmas special but i thought that'd be subverting reality a little TOO much :P
> 
> this is actually an extremely couple-y chapter damn. maybe this is my weihnachten special :P

 Mario was in the middle of doing some of his physio-mandated stretches when Marco returned home from his shopping trip. He had one eye on Babylon Berlin on Das Erste and the other on his foot, which was planted on the carpet, when Marco entered the living room. Mario didn't look at his boyfriend as he arrived, but he called out:

"Marco, baby? Did you get all the stuff you wanted?"

He received nothing more than a solitary grunt in response. Finishing off his stretch, Mario stood up straight, and turned to where Marco was standing by the kitchen table, unloading some of his bags. There were standard groceries, some health juices and Lucozade and vegetables, some decidedly unhealthy food and two large bottles of wine. In the other few bags there were some clothes that Marco had bought to himself and for Mario.

"Did you get the hoodie I asked for?" Mario asked, coming up to the table. Marco presented him with the dark blue hoodie Mario had asked for from Boss, still not looking at him. "Wow, thanks, baby. It's so gorgeous, isn't it? I knew the blue would match me perfectly. What d'you think?""

"It's nice," Marco said, giving the hoodie a throwaway glance as Mario held it up against his chest. Mario's shoulders, which had been puffed up dramatically  to show off his hoodie in all its glory, sagged somewhat. Something was wrong, wasn't it?

 "You don't sound... happy, honey. Everything okay?" he asked hesitantly. "Did something happen while you were out?"

Marco gave him a look that actually made him recoil slightly. It wasn't... angry, per se, but it was frustrated. Irritated.

"Fine," Marco muttered. The expression on his face changed and he was smiling, though it was a very tight sort of smile. "What've you been doing all this time?"

"Oh, I've just been doing some of the stretches that Voeste gave me," Mario said, lifting his leg up into a balance as demonstration. "He told me to do them twice a day, but I sort of forgot for the past few days. But I remembered now! I'm going to be  _so_ fit for our next game. Well, fit enough to make the bench, at least."

Marco nodded. "Yeah, I've been telling you to get your excercises done. Should be more organised like me, I'm always doing them at the precise times and everything. Physio excercises are one of the many things I'm simply perfect at."

Mario laughed. Marco didn't really sound quite as... zippy, as he usually did, but he was making a narcissistic remark, and that was good enough for Mario.

"The only reason you're so diligent with your excercises is because you  _always_ have them," Mario said cheekily. "I don't think you've ever left a training session without Zetzmann giving you a list of about fifty different ways to stretch your body five times a day."

Marco's smile faded. "Yeah, well. I'm not exactly at peak fitness, am I. Not everyone is fucking match-ready even after they've been pushed down mountains or whatever."

Mario floundered. For some reason, Marco actually sounded offended. Was it something he had said?

"Y-Yeah, you're right," Mario said hesitantly. "I wasn't..."

There was a moment of silence as Marco kept pulling items out of the shopping bags with an inordinate amount of aggressiveness. Mario watched him, wondering what on earth he had done wrong. 

When Marco had finally emptied all the bags, he turned to Mario with a vague smile.

"There, now I've finished all your errands, Prinz Mario," he said, bowing jokingly. "D'you want to send me anywhere else in Dortmund while you're at it? Maybe get you a shipment of shoes you like from Berlin?"

Mario jumped on the joke, though the rapid mood-swings were definitely playing with him. "Actually, there were some  _beautiful_  trainers from-"

"Absolutely not." Marco shook his head, laughing and rolling his eyes. "You're unbelievable, you are. I didn't think anyone could get worse than Jerome is about fashion, but then I met you. All those clothes I've had to buy you! Can't walk past the high street without spending about four hours in different shops."

"What can I say?" Mario said lightly. "I'm a high-fashion man. I should start my own clothes brand, too. I bet it'd be better than  _Strassenkicker._ "

" _Anything_ would be better than  _Strassenkicker,"_ Marco said in mock horror. "I don't need my own brand, on the other hand. I'm the face of Puma."

"Oh, yeah?" Mario laughed. "What was that catchphrase?  _I attack with agility?_ "

Marco cringed bodily, holding his arms up above his head. "Fuck, shut up, Mario. Hummels didn't let me hear the end of that for about  _six months._ I don't have  _anything_ on him other than those stupid Nutella adverts he did with Manu. ' _Hey, champ! Wir müssen zum Training.' That_ was fucking stupid."

"But that was one of those shameless situations," Mario said fairly. "One of those situations where you just straight up don't care about your image and just act as goofy as you want. Just look at every advert Manu has ever done. The Sky one he did with Per is a joke, but he knows it is. And the Nutella ones. _And_ that Coke Zero one in München, that too. That was actually a good one, though, he's a pretty good actor."

"Oh my God, Coke Zero! You just reminded me," Marco said breathlessly, reaching into his pocket. Mario relaxed completely now, this sort of behaviour from Marco was as familiar to him as  _breathing_ was. "Lewandowski's advert, you know, the one with Fips? It fucking came out.  _Oh,_ my Lord, it's on Youtube."

He turned on his phone. But his last app open was his Messenger app. This wasn't the best of things to have open.  _bayern won the bundesliga_ was still up, and the last conversation the group had been having was on the screen. Mario didn't notice it, and didn't notice the way Marco's face seemed to darken.

But then Marco switched to Youtube, so his expression and the chat was gone in a flash. Halfway through going to type in the advert name, the man hesitated for a moment, seemingly debating with himself.

"You mind waiting for a moment, Mar?" Marco asked. "I want to take a shower and be in the  _best_ frame of mind when I watch this advert. I have to send it to all the appropriate group chats  _and_ to Lewandowski. And to Neven and Lukasz."

Mario laughed and rolled his eyes. "Sure, baby. I'll knock something up to eat. D'you mind taking my clothes upstairs? But  _don't_ just chuck them on the bed, put them in my wardrobe, _nicely_."

"Yes, yes, I'll do that," Marco said airily. "Hold on a sec, I'll be down to make your world in around half an hour."

"In what way?" Mario asked, winking. Marco sighed.

"You know, when I first looked at you, I thought you'd be one of those cutesy sweet types who couldn't  _stand_ talking about sex. Like Jerome. Though he isn't cutesy sweet. But you subverted all my expectations," he said, with his hands on his hips.

"That's what I do best. Nobody expected  _me_ to win us the World Cup, did they?" Mario said with another wink. "Well, except for Miro. I think he might've given me a magic charm, he was the one who told me I could get it."

"For a moment I thought you were going to be narcissistic, but then you claimed that someone else gave you your success," Marco said wonderingly. "Cannot relate. _I_ am the one who gives  _myself_ a magic charm."

"So you're being narcissistic?" Mario asked slyly.

Marco paused. " _No._ I'm just telling it like it is. If you said it though, it'd be narcissistic, because you're slightly less talented than me. Though only  _slightly_ less."

"Bless," Mario said, placing a hand on his heart. "That's all I've ever wanted to hear from somebody, and now that it's come from my boyfriend?  _You're only slightly less talented than me._ Poets couldn't be more romantic. But enough dilly-dallying, go and take your shower, I want to watch this advert!"

"Oh! Right!" Marco looked as though a light bulb had switched on in his head. His previous slightly grouchy mood was gone and replaced by his usual abundant energy. It was strange- Marco could sometimes slip into somewhat lethargic states, but when Mario enquired about it, he suddenly regained his energy very quickly.

He kissed Mario and, with all the stuff he had bought bundled in his arms, hurried upstairs. Mario laughed and shook his head, picking up the food and deciding to rustle something up. His boyfriend was a bizarre creature, sometimes. Somestimes he could go from cold to sunny in the space of seconds.

Marco returned downstairs around forty five minutes later (he spent a  _long_ time in the shower), and wrapped his arms around Mario's waist as the man was in the middle of making pasta. Mario turned his head to meet Marco's lips in a kiss before returning to his cooking.

"That shit smells good, Mar," Marco said appreciatively. "The only thing I really got to eat today was some Bratwurst from a food stall, but I was sure the guy running it was a Schalker. He gave me  _such_ a dirty look and not enough mustard."

"What's a Schalker doing in Dortmund?" Mario asked wonderingly. "They're like a rare species in this city."

Marco shrugged, then joked:  "I don't know, but I'll be notifying all the appropriate authorities. We can't have that scum in our city."

Mario rolled his eyes. "Go and get me some plates, Marc, and get the Parmesan out."

Obliging, Marco pecked Mario again and went to the cupboards, getting out some cutlery and dishes. He chattered on about his day as he did so, describing the various unsavoury characters that were part of the general public and explaining the genius ways he had gone about concealing his identity. Unlike the other members of the team, like Jonas, who loathed attention, Marco relished in letting people get glimpses of him so it was a fun challenge to hide. It made him feel like a spy. Mario did not quite understand this sentiment, but he supposed that attention was what made Marco blossom.

They finally sat down, Marco finishing an anecdote about a man who had pushed in front of him that  _had_ to be a Bayern sleeper agent. 

"Not everyone unpleasant is a Schalker or Bayern affiliated person," Mario said, rolling his eyes. Marco gasped. "Oh, okay. Schalkers and Bayern affiliated people are  _all_ unpleasant."

"That's more like it," Marco said approvingly. "Oh, shit! Speaking of Bayern, we were going to watch the advert, weren't we?"

He stowed his phone out of his pocket as Mario sat forwards excitedly, having completely forgotten about it. Marco typed out the video title and grinned excitedly as it popped up onto the screen.

"Let's see how fucking idiotic Lewandowski looks, oh, I've been  _waiting_ for this," Marco said eagerly. "This is the shit I  _live_ for."

The advert started to play. Mario leaned his head on Marco's shoulder as the man adjusted his screen so he could see it better. 

In what was a very clever and subtle move from Bayern and Coke Zero, the advert seemed to be set in Sabener Straße- they could kill two birds with one stone and boost Bayern's image at the same time as boosting Coke's. Marco opened his mouth to make a comment about  _propaganda_ but Mario hushed him with a nudge in the side.

But he couldn't stop Marco crowing with laughter when the camera cut to Robert. The man's face was theatrically glum as he stood behind a ball, about to take a penalty. Mario grinned ruefully as Manu appeared in the shot as well, jumping up and down against the goalposts. 

Robert ran forwards, and took the penalty. He missed. There were several cuts of this happening- in some Manu saved the shots. Eventually, Robert seemed to decide it was a lost cause and slumped his shoulders, looking dejected, turning away from the goal and stumping off.

"Bayern tends to make me feel the same way," Marco proclaimed. "Bunch of miserable, happiness-draining fuckers-"

"Speaking of miserable, happiness-draining fuckers," Mario giggled. "It's Fips!"

Indeed, Fips had walked out into the shot. Marco and Mario fell about laughing as they saw their captain's face. Even in the advert, when he was supposed to be acting, he looked furious and depressed.

Fips walked right up to Robert. The height difference between the two men was suddenly the funniest thing Marco and Mario had ever seen. They were laughing so hard Marco had to skip backwards so they could rewatch what they had missed, Marco hushing Mario so they didn't miss anything else. 

Unfortunately, they lost it again as Fips looked up at Robert, frowning (not because he was acting) and said, "Was ist los, mein Freund?"

"Ich glaube es nicht!" Mario gasped, pounding the table. Marco was just shaking his head, tears of mirth spilling down his face.

He cried harder as Robert sighed, slumping his shoulders even more, and said the now legendary line- "I'm not feeling on my game today, Cap."

"Lewandowski's- finest- moment!" Marco choked out.

Fips nodded inordinately aggressively. "Yes, you're looking a little under the weather."

He looked considering (or that was what Marco assumed he was meant to look like, he just looked angry to Marco), and then he said, "Maybe you need a little bit of rejuvenation. Why not try this?"

And then he whipped out a can of Coke Zero so unneccessarily forcefully and thrust it at Robert, who looked perplexed.

"Will this... help?" Robert asked, stiffly rather than sounding actually curious. It was probably because he was well aware his teammates (and many others) would be laughing at him because of this forevermore.

And then Fips said the kicker. He placed the final nail in a coffin that had been being built throughout the entirety of the advert so far.

" _Trust your captain._ " Accompanied by a smile that couldn't have been less desiring of death.

Mario screamed. He covered his mouth with his hands and fell apart, and it seemed like nothing would be able to fit him together again. Marco patted his shoulder, beside himself also. Fips had  _no_ power anymore.

Robert took the Coke can, looking mollified. He opened it, with the camera zooming in on his hands as he did so, with a satisfying pop. Then he placed the can to his lips and drained it all in one go. When he put it down, nothing had changed. He looked at Fips.

"Just wait for it," Fips said, glancing into the camera. Mario was half on the floor, pounding the table with his fist.

Suddenly, there was a violent cut. Robert was no longer standing with Fips, but was standing in front of the ball again- and the entirety of Bayern were in front of him. Marco glimpsed Mats, Jerome, Joshua, Leon, Serge... along with the other nobodies. Manu was in goal. 

And then, Robert moved into action. In a display that was  _clearly_ over-edited because Robert was  _not_ that talented, the Polishman dribbled around the host of people in his way, nutmegging Jerome (Mario giggled), getting past Mats (Marco nodded approvingly), completely avoiding Thomas and Fips, who stopped halfway through his run to 'smile' approvingly at the effect the drink had had on Robert. Robert sprinted up to the goalposts where Manu was waiting for him, but Robert, as a testament to how much the Coke Zero had helped him, scored through Manu's legs.

As the ball hit the back of the net, a tagline popped up onto the screen, being read out by Robert- " _Coke Zero. Erfrischen und zurückspulen._ "

And then it was over. Marco couldn't breathe, he was laughing so hard, but Mario was the worst off of the two of them. The midfielder was on the floor, his face in his hands, looking as though he would never emerge again. The advert was funny enough on its own, but with Mario's infectious mirth added to the mix it was impossible to stop laughing.

Finally, Mario climbed back onto his seat, clinging to the back of it, shaking his head tearfully. Marco had managed to regain his breath and was now on every single group chat he could think of.

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Marco: Coke Zero- Lustige Werbung mit Robert Lewandowski, Phillip Lahm und Manuel Neuer vom FC Bayern**

**Fips:** For the love of God Marco Reus.

 **Julian B:** I SCREEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAMEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDD FIPSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

 **Fips:** I'll give you a real reason to scream you fucking brat.

 **Julian D:** TRUST YOUR CAPTAIN

_king marco prinz mario and the rest_

**Marco:** **Coke Zero- Lustige Werbung mit Robert Lewandowski, Phillip Lahm und Manuel Neuer vom FC Bayern**

 **Kevin Großkreutz:** LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **Neven:** ¿robert lewandowski is respected?

 **Roman Weidenfeller:** Should have stayed with us

_Private chat beween Robert Lewandowski and Marco Reus_

**Marco: Coke Zero- Lustige Werbung mit Robert Lewandowski, Phillip Lahm und Manuel Neuer vom FC Bayern**

**Marco:** hope ur feeling more on ur game this morning !!! <333

 **Marco:** refresh and rewind!!!

 **Marco:** C A P 

_Private chat between Marco Reus and Philipp Lahm_

**Marco:** ily cap <3

 **Fips:** I'll fucking gut you.

 **Fips:** I'll pull out your intestines and string them into a fucking lute.

 **Marco:** i did think the advert needed some background music <3

When Marco had finished his rounds and had possibly placed a death warrant on his head, he put his phone down on the table and rubbed his eyes, which were still leaking with happiness. If anything could have cheered him up more today, he would have liked to know what it was, because this for him was pure contentment. Mario finally seemed to have recovered, hiccoughing and shaking his head in wonder.

"What in the  _world_ did those advertisers have to do to get Fips on board with that?" Mario said in astonishment. "Do they have his nudes on their phones or something?"

Marco chortled. "I don't know. But do you know what I do know?" 

"What?" Mario said, wiping his eyes. Marco grinned at him.

"For the first time in my life, I'm kind of  _glad_ Lewandowski went to Bayern," he said with a giggle. "I mean, you can't make this shit up."

Mario nodded sagely, and the two of them returned to eating, occasionally lapsing into fits of uncontrollable laughter. As they did so, Mario thought that any previous frostiness had been well and truly melted- but it would take more than the heat of Fips and Robert's embarrassment to get rid of it completely.

***

Robert had been noticing a definite droop to Jerome's shoulders recently. He knew it definitely had something to do with Jerome's conversation with his brother. Jerome had rapidly brushed his tears away after his small breakdown immediately after the call and had tried to act as though he was okay. Later that night, however, Robert had woken up to the sound of crying, and when he had turned around in his bed, he had been met with the sight of Jerome with his face in his hands trying to make himself as silent as possible. Robert's arms and soothing words could only do so much- Jerome had ended up crying himself to sleep. Robert felt useless at not being able to comfort him, but the fact of the matter was he was somewhat out of his depth with this sort of family problem. He and his sister loved each other.

So the next morning, he had decided to repent for his ineffectiveness by making 'cheering Jerome up' number one on his list of life priorities. When his boyfriend padded into the kitchen at eleven o'clock, he was greeted with the sight of-

"Pancakes!" The sound Jerome made was remarkably similar to the sound Robert could get out of him at...  _other_ times, but he made sure not to joke about it so his boyfriend didn't die of embarrassment. "Rob! You made pancakes!"

"I sure did," Robert said fondly, as Jerome clutched his heart and looked as though Weihnachten had come early. "I went out to buy chocolate rocks and everything. Our supply was running low."

Jerome hurried over to Rob to give him a kiss that was sweeter than anything Robert could make. When they drew apart, Robert was reeling slightly. He was sure his pancakes would taste like disappointment compared to what Jerome had just given him.

"I maybe got a little carried away," Rob admitted, gesturing at the huge stacks of bliss he had been making ever since he had woken up. "I was just having so much fun flipping them."

"Hey, the one person not complaining is me," Jerome promised him. "I could eat every single one."

"That I don't doubt," Robert chuckled. Jerome was remarkably good at eating, and his metabolism was supernatural.  _He_ was also a very good cook too. It wasn't like a Thomas and Manu situation, where Manu had to make sure Thomas was well away from the kitchen while he was cooking, to prevent a major fire. "Just make sure there's enough for me, eh?"

Jerome pretended to think about this. "Hmmm... Depends on how I feel about you after I've gotten through half of them."

He dodged the handful of flour that Robert threw at him and went to help his boyfriend clean everything up. Robert warned Jerome not to get salmonella as he licked the pancake batter straight off of the spoon, but the look he received in return was almost like he was telling salmonella: _come for me,_ _pussy._

Finally, they were ready to actually dive into eating the pancakes. Robert barely had time to tell Jerome to try and not end up giving himself a heart-attack, but his warnings fell on deaf ears once more. His boyfriend ate around three pancakes in the time it took for Robert to finish one.

" _Mppppphhhffh_ these are fucking incredible." Jerome kissed his fingers just like the Italian chef meme, though he wasn't even doing it as a joke. The pancakes were just that good. "You really need to take me to Poland again so I can  _beg_ your  _matka_ to give me the recipe for these."

"They wouldn't be a family secret otherwise," Robert said, tapping his nose. "You've got me here to make them whenever you want!"

"What about when we're away on international duty and I get a  _craving?_ " Jerome pouted. "Jogi's dietary rules can be so annoying sometimes. One time, during the World Cup, Manu went so bananas with the rabbit food he formulated a whole operation where he got us to block off the kitchen and make sure Jogi stayed away while he made us a three-course meal with a  _shit-ton_ of butter and salt in it. It tasted godly, too.  Manu is a fucking  _amazing_ cook, you know."

"Oh, yeah, I know. One time I was hanging around with Thomas and Manu after a training session when you were at physio, and he made us some risotto, and  _shit,_ Jeri, it was so good," Robert said dreamily. "Thomas is  _lucky_ he's got a boyfriend who can cook well. That man managed to burn  _pasta_ once."

"It's incredible," Jerome said, shaking his head with a sigh, between a mouthful of Robert's pancakes. " _We're_ lucky too. Both of us can cook well."

"Oh, yeah?" Robert said, suddenly grumpy. "I don't remember you preaching about  _my_ cooking like you did about Basti's _or_ Manu's."

Jerome rolled his eyes. "You're so salty. I praise your cooking about two hundred times a day. I _just_ praised your cooking right now. Basti's omelettes were a one-time thing, so of course I had to praise them extensively at the time. And you can't even deny Manu's is incredible."

"Hmmm, yeah, sure," Robert said more grumpily, as Jerome inhaled some more pancakes. "I make better omelettes, though.  _Polish_ omelettes. The potatoes, onions, zucchini- unmatched."

"Yours are fucking gorgeous, that is  _very_ true," Jerome said thoughtfully. "Your  _matka's,_ though. Holy shit."

Robert looked considering about this statement, and then he decided, seeing as his  _matka_ had taught him the secrets of his omelette making, it was a fair statement for Jerome to make.

His  _matka_ had actually privately told Robert one day, "if you marry him, I give you permission to share the family secret. Your  _babcia_ would want it to happen."

Robert smiled at the memory, taking a dreamy mouthful of pancake.

"My sister is way worse at cooking than me and my  _matka,_ " he said. "We always tease her for it. She never quite mastered the family recipes, but funnily enough, she ended up dating a chef."

"Ende gut, alles gut," Jerome laughed.  "You got all the talent, eh? If I had a sibling like you, I'd go bonkers. I'd absolutely hate you."

"You already  _are_ that sibling," Robert said dismissively. That was a mistake. He only realised what he'd said when he glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw Jerome suddenly clutching his cutlery more tightly, staring down at his plate. Robert kicked himself inwardly.  _Moron!_ "I'm sorry, Jeri."

Jerome shook his head, as if to say,  _it's_ _fine,_ but he didn't say it aloud. "I think I inherited my cooking skills from my Vater. His Ghanaian food was amazing."

"You made me one of his recipes before, it did taste amazing," Robert agreed. "Get yourself a boyfriend who can cook literally anything, eh?"

"Get yourself a Jeri," Jerome said, gesturing at himself. Robert nodded solemnly. "Your future Cap in the making."

Robert looked suspiciously at Jerome. It would have sounded like an innocent narcissistic comment to anyone else, but Robert  _wasn't '_ anyone else'.

"You know, Rob," Jerome continued with a sigh. "I really wasn't feeling on my game this morning. But you cheered me up so much-"

"Jeri..." Robert said threateningly.

"- I'm really feeling  _refreshed_ and _rejuvenated_."

"Oh my god." Robert let his fork clatter against his plate. "You're fucking  _kidding_ me. It did  _not_ come out today."

"It didn't," Jerome assured him, and Robert relaxed, thinking Jerome was just teasing him about the filming. "It came out  _yesterday._ "

Robert gasped theatrically, jumping to his feet. "It  _didn't!_ "

"It sure darn did." Jerome grinned cruelly. "When I woke up this morning, I got a delightful message from Marco informing me that it had come out. Such a thoughtful friend, don't you think?"

He showed Robert his phone. Robert distinctly recalled seeing notifications on his phone from Marco that morning that he had ignored because he had wanted to make the pancakes.

_Private chat between Marco Reus and Jerome Boateng:_

**Marco:** **Coke Zero- Lustige Werbung mit Robert Lewandowski, Phillip Lahm und Manuel Neuer vom FC Bayern**

 **Marco:** there you go!

 **Marco:** because ur boyfriend isnt responding

 **Marco:** with great power comes great responsibility

 **Marco:** share the ad with all the right people and spread the great message of our good cause of making lewandowski look like a fool

 **Jerome:** you got it marco bby <3

"Oh my God," Robert said, covering his face with his hands. "I am  _never_ going to hear the end of this. My life is ruined."

"It is," Jerome said with relish. "But don't worry. Have a Coke Zero, and you'll feel rejuvenated enough to face the-  _Rob!_ "

Robert had thrown a pancake at his face.

***

Basti had been busy laughing at Fips and Robert's advert when Lukas' phone call came. He was caught thoroughly off-guard by it, dropping his phone by accident, but he scrambled to pick it up quickly enough, eagerly swiping right.

"Baby!" he said excitedly, as Lukas's beautiful, shining, smiling face greeted him. "You called!"

"Of course I did, Basti, who do you think I am? I can't go a single day without seeing you," Lukas declared. "I was going to call you once I got back from... Mesut's, but I got caught up because I had to fix my broken tap."

"It's fine, I was going to call you before I got to bed anyway," Basti said, and Lukas grinned at him. "Did you manage to get your tap fixed in the end?"

"No, I think it's bust. I'm going to call someone in tomorrow to deal with it, I might have made the damage worse," Lukas admitted with a guilty expression on his face. "But what are we doing, talking about my incompetence-"

"What we normally do," Basti cut in, just because he had to get a roast in. He  _had_ to.

Lukas's expression was as unimpressed as Jogi's resting expression, and that was a remarkable feat. "I will hang up right now."

"I'm sorry, baby," Basti laughed. "You basically opened yourself up to that attack."

"I did  _not,_ " Lukas pouted. "You just view everything I say as an excuse to attack me."

Basti put his hand to his forehead and pretended to look around. "Where's the lie? I don't see it. I'm sorry, Luki, it's just irresistible."

" _You're_ irresistible. I forgive you," Lukas said in response, blowing him a kiss. "For now. Mostly 'cause I'm looking at your beautiful face. When I hang up I'll go back to being mad."

"That is a-okay with me," Basti said cheerfully. "So, how has your day been? You said you went to Mesut's?"

Lukas suddenly looked shifty. "Uh... yeah, I did. Yes."

This expression was most suspicious and Basti squinted at him, knowing instantly that Lukas must have been hiding something. 

"What's that face for?" he asked. "Did you do something stupid again?"

"You  _know,_ you really don't have to add the 'again' every time you ask me that."

"Yes I do. What have you been up to, Luki?"

Lukas looked even more guilty. "Um..."

It was so hard not to spill everything out to Basti. He _wanted_ to burst out with a detailed explanation of everything that been happening with Bernd and Marc-Andre, like Mesut had done for him (though it had been less detailed, it being Mesut), but at the same time he'd feel guilty about exposing them. Besides, none of them knew what had gone down with Marc-Andre and Bernd in Barcelona yet, so he might be telling Basti fabrications. He decided that Basti could find out when Bernd and Marc-Andre wanted to tell- he would be a  _good_ friend, unlike the Chuckle brothers who couldn't keep anything to themselves.

"I was sort of trying to egg Mesut and Sami on," he improvised on the spot. Basti's face lit up with both exasperation and anticipation. "You know how hard it is to be around them two?  With their constant heart eyes and blatantly in love antics? I couldn't really take it. So I decided to try and nudge the situation a bit..."

"You crisis, Lukas," Basti sighed. "But I approve secretly. Did they let anything slip?"

"You know them," Lukas said, shrugging. "Sami blushed and he didn't know why and Mesut blinked like an idiot, not getting it. But no dice. They're going to ride that denial train off a cliff."

"It was worth a shot," Basti said soothingly. "I, personally, don't see how  _others_ haven't snapped yet. I thought surely Mülli would have snapped at some point, but he's still remaining remarkably restrained. I think Marco and the likes  _want_ their obliviousness to continue, though."

"It's funny,"  Lukas said fairly.

"It's  _annoying,_ " Basti corrected him. "It's so hard not to fucking shake them, yelling,  _YOU- ARE- GAY!_ "

Lukas laughed. "Mind you, Mesut would probably just squint and say, 'gay? You mean we're happy? That's such an old fashioned word, Basti'."

"Oh, God, why is that true?" Basti cackled. "I cannot  _deal_ with them."

"We probably should learn to, otherwise Fips will get on our case," Lukas chuckled. "Remember his 'no-interference' policy?"

"Mmhm. I think it's a stupid policy."

"A lot of what Fips says is stupid," Lukas said. "He just says it with a serious face so it  _sounds_ like it's legit."

"Ah, Luki. We should be  _trusting_ our captain," Basti said slyly. Lukas looked very excited.

"Oh yeah, the ad came out!" he said wildly. "I need to see that soon, I know Marco sent it to the group chat, but I haven't gotten around to looking at it yet."

"I'm surprised you didn't watch it with Mesut," Basti said. "I know for a fact Manu burnt his hand on the stove because Thomas showed him the advert while he was making food. It was  _that_ good. Though being there while it was being filmed was better. Fips threatened to flay us all alive, even Nico."

"Ahhh," Lukas said appreciatively. "Fips. I'm glad the old days where none of us could say a word against him without fearing for our lives is over now."

Basti smirked. "We  _never_ really feared for our lives. Back then Fips was in the same boat of awkward youth navigation as us."

"True. It was the same in Bayern too," Lukas said wistfully.

The two of them trailed off in thought, both lost in reminiscience. This wasn't a good thing for Basti, who suddenly felt a little sad. And then he started thinking about what he had talked about with Robert and Jerome when he had ambushed them in drunken tears.  _Communication._ They had wanted him to talk to Lukas about his...  _feelings._

Basti hesitated. He  _wanted_ to bring up what had been stewing in his mind for all this time, all the loneliness and sadness and desire. But he just couldn't find the words for it. And Lukas looked like he was in a good mood, so he didn't want to end up dragging his spirit down with his soul-bearing.

Lukas spoke up before Basti could even open his mouth anyway.

"Hey, baby, guess what I saw when I was kicking around Topshop for a bit? This top that I know you'll fucking  _love._ I got it for you, thank me later," he said brightly. "I'll give it to you when we meet up next. You'll love it, trust me-"

Basti beamed as Lukas got up to go and find the top, and when he was out of sight for a bit he sighed.  _Communication_ might be easy for Jerome and Robert, because they were together all the time, but it was a lot harder when you were so far apart. At some point he would talk to Lukas.  _At some point._

***

"Sorry, baby," Thomas said, for about the fortieth time, as Manu held his hand under a stream of cold water coming from the kitchen tap. "I kind of lost control, a bit, there."

"No kidding," Manu said dryly. Thomas had indeed  _'lost control'-_ he had been laughing so hard at the advert that his arms had flailed and knocked into Manu, causing the man to burn his hand on the stove. Now Manu's hand was very red, but fortunately, it didn't look to be a serious burn. "Luckily I'm used to you nearly killing me with your clumsiness."

Thomas raised his hands apologetically. "You have to admit, if you  _were_ going to get killed by me laughing, at least this time it would be for a good reason."

"True," Manu sighed, wincing slightly as he turned his hand in the water. "Better be killed by you now than by Fips tomorrow."

"Oh,  _God,_ yeah," Thomas giggled. "We're going to have to watch our backs. Marco says he's out for blood. The non-Bayern players can have their shits and giggles now, but Fips will pay them back in the international break."

"To be honest, he's fighting a losing battle. These men would face a bayonet and still laugh at Fips. I don't know what he was expecting, he looked _ridiculous,_ " Manu sighed. "At least I, as per usual, looked flawless in that advert."

"You always look flawless in adverts," Thomas admitted. "Even the stupidest ones. Because  _you're_ flawless."

Manu blushed. "Flatterer. You still burnt my hand."

"Aw, don't hold that against me, Manu. Here, how about I heal you instead?" Thomas offered, leaning forwards to kiss Manu. The goalkeeper responded enthusiastically, though the positioning was awkward because Manu's hand was under the tap. It lasted a long time and when they drew away Manu was smiling uncontrollably and Thomas was bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"I've been kind of buzzing, recently, Thommy," Manu said after he drew his hand away from the tap to check it and put it under again. "I don't know why, but I feel really happy. Maybe it's just because I feel like I'm going to get things done, maybe it's because the international break is coming up in a couple of weeks, I don't know. What I do know is I've been feeling a lot better recently."

"I feel the same way, honey," Thomas said with a smile. " _You've_ made me happy. You always make me happy. I'm so glad you made the decision to take the therapist's phone number off of Miro."

"It was a scary idea, at first," Manu admitted. "I had about three panic attacks afterwards because I didn't think I'd be able to do it. But now I'm going to stop fucking around, I'm going to get active and get help."

"That?" Thomas beamed. "That was the best thing I've ever heard. When I go to heaven, all there'll be is a video-tape of you saying that on loop."

" _If_ you get into heaven. With your penchant for  _burning_ things you look like you're headed to the more fiery place."

"Manu!" Thomas pouted. "I'm being  _nice_  to you."

"True. Maybe I should be nice back. This  _is_ a rare occasion, after all."

Thomas gave Manu a gentle smack on the shoulder. "Keep talking. I was planning on being  _really_ nice later on, but if you don't appreciate my sense of  _good will..._ "

Manu's cheeks heated up. 

"I do appreciate it," he mumbled, appreciating the cold water more. 

"Ha!" Thomas smacked Manu again. "You dirty little demon. You're fine with insulting me until I threaten to take  _sex_ away..."

"What can I say?" Manu said, shrugging and blushing, feeling very much like Jerome. "You're good at sex. Not much else."

"Okay, okay. I burnt your hand. Maybe I deserve this," Thomas laughed, leaning back against the counter. "Oh, Manu. I love you so much."

"I love you too," Manu said fondly. "More than I let on. You're one of the main reasons I'm doing this. You make me want to be the best version of myself."

Thomas waved a hand in front of his face, looking overly emotional, but when he finally gained control of himself, he said this:

"Of course. Being around my constant perfection should rub off on you eventually."

Manu sighed deeply. "I thought you were going to say something intensely romantic and heart-warming, but you had to be yourself."

"You know you wouldn't have it any other way," Thomas murmured, leaning forwards and kissing Manu again. This one took Manu by surprise. He used his other hand to cup Thomas's face, leaning in deeper. For all Manu punched balls away from goal, he was exceedingly gentle with Thomas, his hands soft and light against his skin.

They pulled apart again, Thomas still looking up at Manu with a smile shining on his face.

"You know, Thommy," Manu said gruffly. "You're right. I wouldn't have it any other way. Ever. I wouldn't be where I am without you."

"Bullshit," Thomas murmured. "You've always been perfect."

"No way. I only became perfect after I met you," Manu promised him. "You turn every attacker facing me into Higuain."

Thomas burst into tears, and flung his arms around Manu's neck. Manu stumbled a bit, grinning, and then he wrapped  _both_ arms around his Thommy- feeling refreshed and rejuvenated.

***

Marc-Andre and Bernd hadn't talked for a long time. They had been wrapped up in each other's arms for the past hour or so after waking up, Marc-Andre's head buried in Bernd's chest, Bernd's lips resting against his hair. Words were bouncing around their head that they wanted to say, but they had spoken so much recently, that it was nice remaining in silence.

But the unspoken had to become spoken eventually. As he gently ran his fingers through Marc-Andre's hair, Bernd had been thinking. His phone had been flashing with notifications on the bedside table all morning, and he was pretty damn certain he knew  _exactly_ who it was messaging him. The stooges back in London. He had not said a solitary word to them before leaving for Barcelona and for all the time he had been in Barcelona. He imagined they were feeling... somewhat  _stressed._

He couldn't quite bring himself to care, however. He was too busy being wrapped up in bliss, the euphoria of finally, finally having shattered the wall between him and Marc-Andre having consumed him. What did it matter what the idiots back in London were thinking? They were all expecting him to fail, anyway. 

Eventually, though, his brain went off on a tangent.  _What_ on  _Earth_ were him and Marc-Andre were going to do about... this situation? Or, more specifically,  _how_ on Earth were they going to tell their team about all of this? This was the team that had been relentlessly mocking them for a millenium, having believed them to be completely oblivious about their love for each other. They had made an abundance of jokes and they were liable to have fits if they discovered that Marc-Andre and Bernd were... in a relationship? Or... mutually bonded? He didn't know the exact word for it, but what he did know was that die Mannschaft would mock them about it either way.

He decided to speak up. His voice was a little hoarse from lack of use. "Marc?"

Marc-Andre looked surprised, stirring against his chest. He looked up at Bernd. "Bernd?"

He had thought about using the word 'baby', but that was moving into things a  _bit_ too quickly.

"I was just thinking," Bernd said hesitantly. "About..."

Marc-Andre waited patiently for him to elaborate. That was new. Back in the day- well, before yesterday, that was- he would've ended up yelling at Bernd in annoyance if he took more than three seconds to get his point across.

"The team," Bernd said finally. Marc-Andre, not sure at what he had been expecting (but it hadn't been that), raised his eyebrows. "I've been thinking about the team. You know, the team we play with."

 _God,_ it was hard not saying something snarky- he had to bite eventually. "Have you _really_?"

That was more familiar. Bernd giving him an unfamiliar look. "Yeah, I have."

"And...  _what_ have you been thinking about?" Marc-Andre asked carefully. 

"What do you think?" Bernd sighed. "About, well... this. Us. This whole... thing."

He gestured down at Marc-Andre, and then at himself. Marc-Andre looked at him contemplatively.

"You're asking me if we should tell the idiots we fucked?" Marc-Andre asked. He was surprised he managed to get the damn words out- Leroy would've been proud. 

"Well, yeah," Bernd said, shrugging. "I am. What the hell are we going to do? They'll absolutely flay us alive with memes when they find out. They won't stop laughing for about seven years."

"Seven  _hundred_ years," Marc-Andre corrected him. "Damn, you're right. This is kind of a dilemma, isn't it?"

"Absolut."

"Well," Marc-Andre said. "We have two options. We either man up and tell them straight up that we're... together, now. Or we hide it until one of them inevitably stumbles onto us and finds out."

Bernd's brow creased in thought. It was actually really cute. A  _lot_ about Bernd was really cute. Now he had stopped suppressing all of his positive thoughts about his... fellow goalkeeper, Marc-Andre was noticing a lot of things about Bernd that his past self would have been sickened to think about.

"I'll have to tell the goonies," he said flatly. "Mesut, Olivier, and then Sami will find out. And Lukas probably knows already, there's no way they've managed to keep this to themselves. Then Arsenal will find out."

"I'd have to tell Leroy too," Marc-Andre said. Bernd raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, he's kind of been my venting partner for a long time. Along with Jonas, sometimes."

"Well, we're basically fucked. There's no way the truth isn't coming out," Bernd said. "Unless we force them at gunpoint to stay silent."

"Maybe," Marc-Andre said contemplatively. "It'll be  _hard,_ though. Like, these people talk shit as a hobby. It'd be like telling them to stop breathing. Apart from Jonas, though."

Bernd nodded solemnly, and then he squinted a little. "Although... maybe..."

"What?" Marc-Andre said, noticing the thoughtful look that stole across Bernd's face. "I know that look, though I haven't seen it much. You've had an idea."

He received another scathing look. 

"I  _did_ have an idea," he said. "To get them quiet. Maybe... we can get them involved in a scheme."

"A scheme? That sounds on their wavelength. What did you have in mind?" Marc-Andre asked curiously. 

"We can tell them," Bernd said carefully. "But we can make their silence worth their time. We can say we want to keep it hidden from the team. They'd have fun with that, I feel. They'd know we're together, but nobody else does, so it'd be funny for them. They'd get a kick out of knowing something the rest of the team doesn't know. Because they're fucking psychopaths."

"There's an idea," Marc-Andre said thoughtfully. "And anyway, they'll be expecting us to update them anyway. There's no way to hide it from them. This could be a way of minimising damage."

Bernd nodded. "Mesut and Sami will be hard to control, but you know them, they're self-righteous as fuck, think they know more than others even though they know the least of anyone, they'll love thinking they know stuff the others don't. And Lukas is kind, I doubt he'd actually try and expose us. He knows how hard it was for us to... uh..."

"Leroy is the same," Marc-Andre said hastily. "He wouldn't say anything. He'd die because he's been trying to get us to... um... you know... for so long. So I don't think he'd gab either." 

"Why don't we try it out?" Bernd suggested. "Either way, the team will find out. This will give us a chance to bamboozle them a bit first though, and give us an extended peace."

Marc-Andre nodded. "Okay. Let's do it."

"God knows we don't have many other options," Bernd sighed. Marc-Andre made a noise of agreement and buried his head into Bernd's chest again.

It seemed they would forever be the long-suffering couple of die Mannschaft. But at least now they were united against the torment.

***

_Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Sami Khedira_

**Mesut:** u know i've absolutely had it up to here with bernd leno

 **Mesut:** the man is just c o m p l e t e l y inconsiderate towards the man who raised him

 **Mesut:** not so much as a single whisper about the tea

 **Sami:** Let's be real here

 **Sami:** If he's having a romantic moment rn, the last thing he'd do is ruin it by messaging a donkey like you

 **Mesut:** i was the one who was giving him romantic coaching

 **Mesut:** my advice was what steeled him to take that step forwards

 **Sami:** I'm pretty sure that is factually incorrect on every account

 **Mesut:** ok oli helped a bit

 **Sami:** No it was all you

 **Mesut:** all i want is for my gay fools to be happy together

 **Sami:** You want them to have drama and you know it

 **Sami:** You want shit to gossip about

 **Mesut:** how dare you sir

 **Mesut:** i want nothing but the best for my goalie

 **Mesut:** i wouldn't want his morale lowered for matches

 **Sami:** You're a moral disaster

 **Sami:** I thought marco was bad

 **Sami:** Some friend you are

 **Mesut:** oh ok, mr integrity

 **Mesut:** because u haven't been fucking sitting on the edge of ur seat every time u think i have a steno update

**Mesut:** _screenshot:_

**_[Mesut: SAM_ **

**_Mesut:_ ** **_OMG_ **

**_Sami:_ ** **_WHAT IS IT_ **

**_Sami: OH MY GOD IT'S STENO ISN'T IT WHAT'S THE DRAMA_ **

**_Mesut: actually i was just gonna say i saw the guy from ur tv show on the bus_ **

**_Mesut: i don't think he watches football bc he didn't recognise me :(_ **

**_Sami: Damn Mesut my stomach plummeted with disappointment.]_ **

**Mesut:** uve been just as immorally absorbed in this as i am

 **Sami:**...

 **Sami:** I'm allowed to be, though

 **Sami:** He's not my close friend and club teammate

 **Sami:** He's my national teammate

 **Sami:** That gives me a free pass to be a drama goblin

 **Mesut:** when i say KHEDIRA you say HYPOCRITE

 **Mesut:** KHEDIRA

 **Sami:** GOD

 **Mesut:** i hate u.

 **Sami:** No you don't

 **Mesut:** i do

 **Sami:** You don't

 **Mesut:** i do

 **Sami:** You do not

 **Mesut:** i decidedly do

 **Sami:** You love me

 **Mesut:** i do 

 **Mesut:** WAIT

**Sami:**

**Sami:** You said it not me

 **Mesut:** YOU ARE S O 

 **Mesut:** A N N O Y I N G 

 **Mesut:** LITERALLY ALL U DO IS INSPIRE ANNOYANCE OUT OF ME

 **Mesut:** EVERY BREATH U TAKE

 **Sami:** Awww Mes! 

 **Sami:** I love you too <333

**Mesut:**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time is super bonkers in this chap wow... once AGAIN j ignore it :P
> 
> i just fucking love robert and jeri i just want to die they're so beautiful in my heart and i went a bit rambly with the cooking stuff but my boyf is part-polish and im T E L L I N G you polish omelettes are absoltuely ridiculously good.
> 
> and ofc i got a kick out of including mesami in a very couples-oriented chapter. who WOULDN'T, das ist die echte Frage
> 
> again, frohe weihnachten für morgen! i love all of you guys so much, your comments are so unfailingly sweet and i promise, even if it doesn't seem like im reading them i absoltuely am when i wake up for training the first thing i do is check the comments to give me motivation for training in the rain :P even tho is the winter break for our season now so i get more opportunities to update a bit more!!!
> 
> hope you enjoyed this chapter!!!


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus jeder!!! i hope you all had a good christmas! i had a great time, spent time with my boyfriend's family and we took his little sister to a christmas market, it was just lovely :) i'm still buzzing off that good mood. 
> 
> this is a pointless filler chapter btw full of texting and nothing else sorry yall it's been a long time since we had a solely texting chapter anyway!
> 
> also i was scrolling through our team's xmas posts AND? i only fully realised how fucking adorable bernd is??? he's such a sweetie. and so is thomas. THEY'RE ALL ADORABLE AGH
> 
> now, the reality rule applies to this chap again. in the timeline (i hesitate to say that without chuckling) of this fic so far, the UCL draw for the round of 16 hasn't even happened yet. i haven't even gone into the UCL, i've been focusing more domestically (may do a match with one of youse teams vs bayern if you want :P) but for this chap let's just pretend theyve happened, yeah? the draws were this:
> 
> bayern vs liverpool (ahahahahahah give me death)  
> d*rtmund vs spurs (harry kane is the best striker in europe and he's going to AMASS the hattricks plsthanku)  
> schalke vs city (this was the funniest draw and my friend acc just lay on the floor when he saw it)
> 
> hope u enjoy the chap! :)) <33

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Joshua:**

**Joshua:** rare photograph of jurgen klopp holding a cup during his time with liverpool.

 **Joshua:** however will we beat the might of the reds.

 **Marco:** ahahahahahahah kimmich u gave me a chuckle

 **Marco:** jurgen will rinse you fuckers out to DRY

 **Marco:** no contest

 **Fips:** Because Jurgen has such a good record against Bayern in the Champions League.

 **Marco:** ¿so it's just going to be one of those days, is it?

 **Mats:** after a whole fucking day of you shitposting about the advert?

 **Mats:** im surprised he hasn't done more

 **Fips:** Personally, I find it amusing that after the 'Dortmund Hero' himself arrived at Dortmund, Dortmund actually started winning less than when he wasn't there.

 **Mats:** oh wait he's not done

 **Marco:** i-

 **Fips:** There's no 'I' in team. Which is good for Dortmund. They don't need you.

 **Jonas:** Oh my God...

 **Leon:** i gasped.

 **Basti:** don't know what i expected... 

 **Marco:** this... 

 **Marco:** this was not...

 **Marco:** philipp...

 **Thomas:** fips really glugged down a coke zero to rejuvenate himself for roasting huh

 **Fips:** Die.

**Jerome:**

****

**Jerome:** the spurs-dortmund match being cancelled because marco's tears ruined the pitch

 **Mario Got:** kane would have to leave his mouth open for the pitch to get in THAT state

 **Marco:** F U C K

 **Julian B:** it really is gonna be one of those days

 **Julian B:** you're all out of CONTROL

**Julian B: and i'm so here for it**

**Mesut:** kane jokes? i can get the fuck behind this

 **Mesut:** DYS

 **Mesut:** die you spurs

 **Toni:** Mesut, that reminds me! 

 **Toni:** Who did Arsenal draw in the UCL?

**Mesut:**

**Toni:** That's right.

 **Serge:** that joke doesn't really hit him that hard tho??

 **Serge:** i think he'd prefer being in the europa while bayern are still in the UCL tbh

 **Leon:** SERGE THAT JOKE WAS SO PERFECTLY TIMED IT'S TEN TO 11

 **Mesut:** so the first time u decide tot alk on this group chat, serge, it's to say this?

**Sami:**

**Mesut:** i want to-

 **Serge:** win?

 **Toni:** Don't be ridiculous Serge he's only human

 **Toni:** He doesn't have a direct pipeline to God 

 **Jerome:** don't worry mesut i'm here for you

**Jerome:**

**Jerome:** for context, this game was the first game in 10 years in the UCL that akinfeev kept a clean sheet in

 **Jerome:** vs the mighty los blancos

 **Jerome:** oh, for added context

 **Jerome:** real lost in their biggest home defeat in the UCL 3-0 in the next fixture vs cska :)

 **Mesut:** i love you jerome :)

 **Jerome:** love u too bby <33

 **Toni:** This is why I don't talk in this group chat.

 **Benni:** All of you shut the fuck up. 

 **Benni:** Right fucking now.

 **Jonas:** Are you okay Benni??

 **Mats:** benni's l i v i d

 **Mats:** about the draw

 **Jonas:** Oh I'm sorry :/

 **Julian D:** For what it's worth I'm supporting you in that game bene?

 **Benni:** It's worth nothing.

 **Leroy:** awww it's ok bene i won't score just for you!

 **Leroy:** as a dedicated former schalker

 **Benni:** I'll turn you into a fucking wallet. 

 **Marco:** i spat out my drink when i saw the draw

 **Marco:** it really worked out perfectly for us

 **Marco:** schalke and bayern will get annihilated and dortmund will get through

 **Marco:** what a campaign this will be!

 **Mario Gom:** What if you reach the final tho :/

 **Marco:** oh shut the fuck up you play for stuttgart focus on your relegation battle before you make UCL jokes.

 **Mario Gom:** I won the UCL against you

 **Marco:** i can't hear you over the sound of success

 **Mario Gom:** I am, quite literally, more successful than you in every way

 **Miro:** He is

 **Mario:**!!!!!

 **Miro:**!!

 **Benni:** You know fucking what Reus?

 **Benni:** You piece of Dortmund shit?

 **Benni:** You scum at the bottom of the Rhine?

 **Benni:** Captain of the worst and most obnoxious team in Europe?

 **Marco:** sorry i can't hear you benni let me hop down to 13th 

 **Marco:** 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12-

 **Marco:** 13! ok, benni, say it again

 **Jerome:** you eat audacity for  breakfast

 **Mario Got:** he IS audacity

 **Mats:** he's an absolute dickhead, that's what he is.

 **Benni:** I always thought Kane was the best striker in Europe

 **Miro:**???

 **Benni:** I couldn't give a fuck if we lose vs City

 **Benni:** As long as Dortmund lose everything it'll be my season

 **Benni:** If Bayern don't win the league again-

 **Fips:** We'll help you Benedikt.

 **Marco:** sad! having to rely on bayern to give you a good season

 **Benni:** Do you remember 4-4 Marco?

 **Benni:** Then 2-0?

 **Marco:** STOP

 **Mesut:** benni really it's okay

 **Mesut:** if im being honest u probably have the best deal out of all the german teams drawn

 **Mesut:** nobody has any expectations of schalke, so you'll either be extraordinarily impressive or nobody will be surprised

 **Benni:** Enjoy Borisov away you bastard.

 **Sami:** Lol

 **Mesut:** enjoy köln away

 **Marco:** loooooooooool

 **Jonas:** Owwww 

 **Julian D:** Mesut you dickhead.

 **Julian D:** Apologise to Jonas.

 **Mesut:** no

 **Jonas:** He doesn't have to lol

 **Julian B:** he has to if we say he has to

 **Julian B:** APOLOGISE.

 **Mesut:** why am i going to apologise benni came for me first

 **Mesut:** with the likes of tedesco as your manager and mckennie as your striker they aren't aiming for top 4 are they

 **Marco:** i love you mesut <3

 **Marco:** you're probably the worst club traitor of all time

 **Marco:** went to bremen then to london where you achieved no success but routinely abuse the club that developed you

 **Marco:** but it's ok because the club that developed you was schalke <33

_Private chat between Philipp Lahm and Benedikt Höwedes_

**Benni:** Fips please let me make a Sami joke.

 **Fips:** This situation doesn't warrant it.

 **Benni:** You BIASED SCUMBAG

 **Benni:** IF SOMEONE WAS MAKING A BAYERN JOKE YOU'D LET THEM CRACK OUT THE MESAMI ROASTS

 **Fips:** Correct. But you play for Schalke.

_bayern won the bundesliga_

_Benedikt Höwedes left bayern won the bundesliga._

_Thomas Müller added Benedikt Höwedes to bayern won the bundesliga._

**Mats:** thomas isn't even taking but he's somehow omnipresent when someone wants to leave

 **Joshua:** almost like dortmund's board when someone wants to go to bayern

_Marco Reus left bayern won the bundesliga._

_Thomas Müller added Marco Reus to bayern won the bundesliga._

**Marco:** i fucki

 **Mats:** ng suck dick

 **Marco:** there are a great many words i could use to describe you, hummels

 **Marco:** but i can perfectly encompass your entire existence in 3

 **Marco:** WASTE OF SPACE

 **Toni:** So people are just rotating filling in for Marc-Andre while he's gone missing huh

**Marco: SHUT UP**

**Jonas:** Sorry for changing the subject really quickly

 **Marco:** don't apologise.

 **Jonas:** But Toni has a point, is Marc-Andre okay?

 **Jonas:** I've tried to message him over the past couple of days but I haven't gotten a reply so I've been a bit worried

 **Jonas:** I thought he might just be too busy to talk but he doesn't usually not reply for this long

 **Toni:** Why would he want to talk to you

 **Jonas:** Haha good point

 **Julian B:** TONI YOU FUCDSK

 **Joshua:** YOU'RE PUSHING YOUR LIMITS KROOS I'LL PUSH YOU INTO THE OCEAN

 **Toni:** So the urban legend is really true.

 **Toni:** Roasting Jonas doesn't net you any satisfaction at all. The second I pressed the send button I felt my soul being dragged out of my body. I felt awful. Even when he said 'haha good point' I just felt terrible.

 **Thomas:** we told you and you didn't listen

 **Toni:** Sorry Jonas.

 **Jonas:** It's honestly okay you really don't need to apologise I don't get offended at all

 **Joshua:** sweetie you really have to stop letting people walk all over you

 **Joshua:** insult the stupid fucker back

 **Joshua:** there's a WEALTH of material you could use he plays for real madrid

 **Jonas:** Uh

 **Jonas:** Can I say Bayern didn't deserve to go out the way they did last year?

 **Jonas:** I mean Real have a lot of talent but I feel like there were questionable refereeing choices but not to put down your team's success Toni because the UCL is a huge achievement

 **Joshua:**... we'll work on it, honey

 **Toni:** Keep roasting me Jonas :)

 **Leroy:** we insult marc-andre for roasting badly but at least he CAN do it

 **Jonas:** Have YOU spoken to him recently Leroy?

 **Leroy:** no not much at all i think he's very busy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Jerome:** SUS ALERT HE'S PUT MULTIPLE EXCLAMATION MARKS HE'S LYING

 **Jerome:** multiple exclamation marks are a sign you're lying or hiding something

 **Mario Gom:** I don't agree?

 **Leroy:** i'm not even

 **Leroy:** i just haven't really spoken to him

 **Jerome:** then why the exclamation marks

 **Leroy:** because marc-andre just inspires that response out of me

 **Mario Got:** do you know who else has been missing?

 **Mario Got:** bernd

 **Mario Got:** HE hasn't responded to me either

 **Mario Got:** mesut and lukas u seen him??

_Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Lukas Podolski_

**Mesut:** LUKAS WHAT DO WE DO

 **Lukas:** we say we hung out with him

 **Mesut:** BUT

 **Lukas:** BUT NOTHING

 **Lukas:** we are SUPPORTIVE FRIENDS IN THIS HOUSEHOLD

_Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Sami Khedira_

**Mesut:** lukas said to keep it zipped

 **Mesut:** so keep it zipped

 **Sami:** DAMn it

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Lukas:**  yea we hung out at his

 **Mesut:** was doing practice shots and the dickhead saved every single one

 **Marco:** damn it

 **Marco:** would've been really funny to have a conspiracy theory where they were together confessing each other's love lmao

 **Jerome:** im sorry but their heads exist up their rectum no way in the seven heavens would that happen

 **Jerome:** [deleted message]

 **Sami:** I didn't see that what did it say

 **Jerome:** nothing important

_Private chat between Leroy Sane and Mesut Ozil_

**Leroy:** WAIT MESUT you're lying aren't you???

 **Leroy:** you know about all this?????

 **Mesut:** do YOU know????

 **Leroy:** what am i knowing you tell me first

 **Mesut:** bernd went to barcelona to confess his love to marc-andre

 **Leroy:** WAIT QUE??

 **Leroy:** HE'S GOING TO CONFESS HIS LOVE???

 **Mesut:** ARE YOU AN IDIOT 

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Sami:** Maybe Marc-Andre is just training for the upcoming Clasico

 **Sami:** Biggest fixture in La Liga???

 **Jonas:** Why would he need to train, it's Real Madrid

 **Manu:** It was coming

 **Joshua:** THAT'S MY JONAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Julian B:** I BURST INTO TEARS PRIDE DOES NOT BEGIN TO DESCRIBE

 **Toni:** I-

 **Fips:** \- got thoroughly eviscerated by JONAS.

 **Jonas:** I'M SORRY I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WAS THINKING

 **Leon:** YOU WERE THINKING THE TRUTH

 **Niklas:** All he has to do is get over the reflexive apologising and he's set what a day.

 **Niklas:** Absolutely beautiful

 **Jerome:** Any time I see Real Madrid getting insulted my skin clears. My pores open. I instantly become hydrated. I grow a little taller. My bones grow a little stronger. I get a spring to my step. A smile steals onto my face. And I think- Ronaldo was offside twice. This is their cosmological karma. I forgive the universe.

 **Jerome:** -from Rob

 **Leon:** poets couldn't write it better. i have tears tracking down my face. i lov robert lewandoswki.

 **Toni:** Mm tell Lewandowski to score in big UCL games and then come back to me

 **Jerome:** i'll fucking murder you toni.

 **Jerome:** he's reached 50 goals the third fastest of any UCL player. above ronaldo. behind only messi and van nistelrooy.

 **Jerome:** if you EVER, EVER insult him again i will-

 **Toni:** Make me fall on my ass?

_Jerome Boateng left bayern won the bundesliga._

_Thomas Müller added Jerome Boateng to bayern won the bundesliga._

_Private chat between Lukas Podolski and Mesut Ozil_

**Lukas:** i think jonas suitably distracted them

 **Mesut:** i know i breathed a sigh of relief

 **Mesut:** tho also a sigh of disappointment that was pretty fuckin g funny

 **Mesut:** god i'm losing my fucking mind with them i just want to know what's going on

 **Mesut:** CAN HE JUST TELL US

_gooners_

**Alexandre L:**  Mes amis

 **Alexandre L:** Où est Bernd?

 **Alexandre L:** Notre gardien de but a disparu??

 **Olivier:** Il est occupé

 **Mesut:** what he said

_Private chat between Leroy Sane and Mesut Ozil_

**Leroy:** im fuckig  screaming right now mesut uhow did u leve me hanging

 **Mesut:** im sorry but its not a difficult conclusion to come to

 **Leroy:** yes it fucking IS

 **Leroy:** marc-andre told me he was going to barcelona to TALK THINGS OUT

 **Leroy:** not that he was coming to say HE WAS IN LOVE

 **Mesut:** listen you fucking goonie

 **Mesut:** it's just a conclusion you come to

 **Mesut:** why on earth would bernd fly all the way to barcelona if he WASN'T in love with marc-andre

 **Mesut:** anyway he literally told us

 **Mesut:** he was going to tell marc-andre he was in love

 **Leroy:** i am SCREAMING

 **Leroy:** MARC IS DEAD

 **Leroy:** I TOLD HIM TO HAVE A VERBAL SPARRING MATCH WITH HIM

 **Leroy:** I DIDN'T THINK IT'D BE ROMANTIC

 **Mesut:** WAIT FUCK

 **Mesut:** FUCK

 **Mesut:** BERND PROBABLY CONFESSED AND MARC PROBABLY DIED

 **Leroy:** I KILLED MY BEST FRIEND!!!!

_Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Olivier Giroud_

**Mesut:** OLI CRISIS

 **Olivier:** What is it

 **Mesut:** LEROY TOLD MARC-ANDRE THAT WHEN BERND CAME THEY SHOULD HAVE A VERBAL SPARRING MATCH

 **Mesut:** MARC-ANDRE IS DEAD THAT'S WHY THEY HAVEN'T BEEN RESPONDED

 **Olivier:** Mesut, you are aware they are grown men?

_Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Sami Khedira_

**Mesut:** SAMI BERND AND MARC-ANDRE ARE DEAD

 **Sami:** Lol

 **Mesut:** IT'S NOT 'LOL' YOU FUCKING BUFFOON LEROY TOLD MARC-ANDRE TO BASICALLY ROAST BERND BECAUSE HE THOUGHT BERND WAS COMING TO TALK THINGS OUT INSTEAD OF CONFESSING THINGS THIS IS SERIOUS

 **Sami:** Shit you're right

 **Sami:** I'll up the intensity

 **Sami:** LMAO

 **Mesut:** YOU TERRIBLE PERSON

_Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Lukas Podolski_

**Mesut:** AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

 **Lukas:** what is it NOW?!

 **Mesut:** I THINK BERND IS DEAD

 **Lukas:** why

 **Mesut:** LEROY TOLD MARC-ANDRE TO BASICALLY ROAST BERND BECAUSE HE THOUGHT BERND WAS COMING TO TALK THINGS OUT INSTEAD OF CONFESSING THINGS THIS IS SERIOUS

 **Lukas:** oh fucking hell.

 **Lukas:** shit.

 **Lukas:** warum ist dieses Team voll mit verdammten Idioten?!??! WARUM KANNST DU DICH NICHT WIE ERWACHSENE VERHALTEN

 **Mesut:** ES WAR NICHT MEINE SCHULD

 **Lukas:** ALSO BERND UND MARC-ANDRE SIND TOT, DAS IST ALLES

 **Lukas:** UNSERE FREUND, ER IST TOT

 **Lukas:** ES IST DEINE SCHULD, 

**Mesut:** WHY ARE YOU BLAMING ME OH MY GOD

 **Mesut:** IT WASN'T JUST ME FFS

 **Mesut:** OLI WAS THERE TOO

 **Lukas:** WHY DIDN'T YOU IDIOTS TELL ME AT THE TIME

 **Mesut:** BERND WAS TOO SCARED TO

 **Lukas:** TOO SCARED????

 **Mesut:** YOU'RE KIND OF SCARY

 **Lukas:** WHAT THE FUCK

_Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Bernd Leno_

**Bernd:** i am in barcelona

**Mesut:**

_Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Lukas Podolski_

**Mesut:** _screenshot:_

**_[Bernd: i am in barcelona]_ **

**Lukas:**... entschuldigung bitte?

_Private chat between Leroy Sane and Mesut Ozil_

**Mesut:** _screenshot:_

**_[Bernd: i am in barcelona]_ **

**Leroy:** i...

_Private chat between Sami Khedira and Mesut Ozil_

**Mesut:** _screenshot:_

**_[Bernd: i am in barcelona]_ **

**Sami:** Hahahahahahahah the fucking state

_Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Olivier Giroud_

**Mesut:** _screenshot:_

**_[Bernd: i am in barcelona]_ **

**Olivier:** C'est tout?

 **Mesut:** that's all.

 **Olivier:** Quelquefois

 **Olivier:** Je déteste vous Allemands.

 **Mesut:** me too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is such a chaotic chapter but i had so much fun writing it. it's probably confusing af tho lmao.
> 
> i must elaborate on something- i've been trying to remain somewhat impartial in my portrayal of clubs in this but as a bayern fan who was born and lives in münchen, i fyucking DESPISE b*russia d*rtmund and i've never had any respect for them :PP EVER. i don't have much respect for schalke either but they're so bad at the moment that you just... have to feel a little pity. i def support schalke over dortmund in revierderby tho. but for me it's every man for themselves :P
> 
> i hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! do let me know if you want some explanations on some of the german football references, because when i include them i often worry that the jokes will go over people's heads??? not to sound patronising tho lol i feel like that was patronising but it wasn't meant to be aaaa
> 
> love you all so much! you brighten my day week and month and year!!! you give me something to look forward to when im tired from everything!


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SERVUS JEDER!
> 
> CHAPTER 40?!??!?! WHAT THE FRICK FUCK? 10 CHAPTERS AWAY FROM 50??? I'M DEAD???  
> it's time for another dedication! this one's for captainsabs! i honestly get a little warmth in my heart seeing ur love for jonas because i love that sweet darling so much and ur mats/benni fics are also super cute thanks for reading!!!
> 
> uhh... usually i have some anecdotal beginning to these chaps... but the most i have to say is i got a late christmas present, it was a manu shirt :))

After several miles of jogging in the rain, a practice game in which Manu had effectively bellowed everyone into cowering, and Nico telling them the news from the physio that James would be missing their next game, Bayern München were feeling...

Decidedly not...  _it._

They weren't feeling it.

If they were feeling anything in particular, however, it was fear. Leon was a shivering wreck from where he was eating his lunch alongside Joshua, Serge and Niklas. He had  _dared_ to make a horrible and unfocused mistake in front of Manu during a training game, which had resulted in Manu conceding in a difficult one vs one situation against Robert. The second Leon had seen that Manu had observed his pass that had gone to the opposition, he had begun dreading the worst. Indeed, when Robert ended up volleying it into the top corner of the net... Manu had let Leon know exactly how he felt about it. And... it hadn't been pretty.

"That was..." Leon said weakly, his mouth full of salad leaves. He still felt like he was being eviscerated by Manu on the spot. "I... How do you ever recover from that?"

"You get used to it," Joshua said cheerfully, munching on his sandwich. "Manu is a very complex case. He looks like he's going to kill you, but sometimes he can subvert your expectations and be the nicest person on Earth. So you let your guard down and assume that his scary exterior is just a front. But if you fuck up badly, he  _will_ kill you, so he's kind of dangerous like that. I genuinely think I've become the right back I am because I used to be so terrified of Manu shouting at me if I made a dumb mistake. I was more scared of Manu than Fips."

Niklas nodded vigorously. "He goes absolutely bonkers if you make an idiotic mistake and he has to bail you out, or if it makes him concede. But he can also be so fucking nice. Like, there was that one game where I misread Boa's intentions and the ball ended up in the back of the net. And I thought he was going to kill me, but he just patted my shoulder and the next training session he instructed me on what to do in a situation like that. So he's not  _always_ terrifying, it's just when you're a fool. So you should really be surprised that he doesn't yell at you _more_."

Fascinated by this (and completely missing the roast) Leon glanced over to where Manu was sitting now. Leon's former club's legend, the best goalkeeper there had ever been, the terrifying titan who had taken over from the _last_ terrifying titan, was currently being poked repeatedly in the cheek with a chopstick by his boyfriend, who was completely ignoring his glare.

"He's  _suicidally_ brave," Leon whispered, gesturing at Thomas, forever in awe of the man's audacious behaviour. "He does this shit all the time with _confidence_. Isn't he worried that Manu's gonna fucking kill him?"

Joshua laughed. " _Thomas?_ Nah. Thomas isn't scared of shit. And I've never, ever seen Manu get angry at Thomas anyway. It's probably because Thomas isn't usually responsible for any idiotic defensive errors, but also because Thomas is Manu's softest spot. He could take out Manu's kneecaps and Manu would still love him."

"Damn," Leon said thoughtfully. "What did he do to get that privileged spot? I want to try and get on Manu's good side."

"He's persistent," Joshua giggled. "Basti told me the whole story. Apparently Manu used to be super shy, and he was overwhelmed by Thomas's...  _Thomas-ness,_ when he first came to Bayern.  Even in the National Team. But he thought it was endearing too and they became best friends really quickly. And Thomas thought Manu was beautiful and had a huge crush on him and literally goofed his way into his heart. He wasn't even subtle about it. They first kissed after the Champions League final in 2012."

"2012?" Leon said in surprise. 

"2012," Joshua repeated. "I guess they needed a little comfort after that shitshow, so they turned to each other.  _I_ sure needed some comfort."

He shook his head glumly. He had been in the youth teams during that time but naturally he had been supporting the senior team to the bitter end...

"How do you know this?" Niklas asked, taking a swig of water and shaking his head in awe at the state of the team's romantic lives. "This detailed story of their relationship?"

Joshua shrugged. "It's Bayern folklore. People were _shocked_ when they found out Manu and Thomas were together, apparently, because Manu is insanely private about personal stuff. According to Fips and Basti, he's opened up way more recently."

"Everyone falls victim to the 'obnoxious gay' curse, eh?" Niklas chuckled. "Everyone on this damn team. Though I suppose you and Julian aren't that obnoxious. Probably because you barely see each other." 

" _Stop,_ " Joshua said firmly. "Or I'm gonna cry."

Niklas shrugged. Leon wasn't really paying attention to the conversation. He was too busy formulating a plan in his head to make Manu so impressed with him that he forgot all about the stupid mistake of earlier. It involved incredible footwork, getting past Sven with a gorgeous goal and also adding an assist here and there for his team.

 _On_ Manu's table,  Jerome and Robert were displaying the full effects of the 'obnoxious gay' curse Niklas had been talking about (at least in Basti's view). They were being being absurdly... at peace. Jerome was lying with his head in Robert's lap on the bench while Robert idly stroked his hair, the two of them having their own conversation away from everyone else. Basti was drinking his soup with a quite unnecessary vigour. Opposite the two of them were Manu and Thomas, Thomas trying his hardest to push Manu to the edge with his poking, and then next to them was Mats and Fips.

"Thommy, I am  _going_ to pick up this knife and run you through with it," Manu said finally, finally snapping as Thomas kept his chopstick buried in Manu's cheek for about twenty seconds straight. "Will you stop being  _annoying?_ "

"How dare you, sir!" Thomas gasped. "Calling your boyfriend annoying. Romance is dead."

" _You_ will be if you don't stop."

"Robert!" Thomas called. The striker looked up. "Can you get Manu a Coke Zero? He sounds like he needs to refresh and rewind."

Robert picked up his own knife and made to throw it, but he was quelled by a look from Fips. With an effort, he placed the knife back on the table again. 

"I hate you, I hate  _all_ of you," he said in a sort of mantra. Jerome lifted his head from Robert's lap and leaned across the table to high five Thomas. "Jeri, I am  _going_ to break up with you."

"Do it, pussy," Jerome said lazily, leaning backwards against Robert's chest. "You see where that gets you."

"To a happy place," Robert intoned. "Somewhere better than here."

"Fips, do you have a word of advice for Robert to get him through his struggles?" Mats asked, in tones of mock concern. "He trusts his captain, after all."

Fips stood up and walked away from the table. For several moments he was gone, but when he returned, he was holding a bottle of water. Mats didn't realise what was going to happen until Fips uncapped the bottle and turned it over his head.

"Fuck me!" Mats yelped, as the table roared with laughter. "What'd you do that for?"

"You tell me," Fips said, calmly, sitting back on the bench as Mats lamented the state of his hair. 

"Stop fucking crying, Hummels, you've been jogging in the rain all morning, your hair already looked bad," Thomas said impatiently as Mats leaned on him, begging for help from some deity to make his hair look good again. "And don't gasp at me, you know it's true. Personally, Fips, I think that you could have really upped the ante for that bit of physical humour by pouring a Coke Zero on him instead."

Fips looked at Thomas with a serene smile. "Do you really?"

Manu managed to stop Thomas talking before Fips took Thomas's advice and went to find a Coke Zero.

Jerome turned to Robert and grinned. "You know that he's been getting it worse than you, baby. Marco spent about a whole day shitposting about the advert in the group chat. You've only had to face  _my_ shit-talking."

"And the entirety of Borussia Dortmund's," Robert said grouchily. "I hate Marco. And I hate you."

"Cry me a river," Jerome said cosily, pressing his nose against Robert's, who grudgingly kissed him. 

Basti, who hadn't said a word for a long time, turned his gaze down to his soup and glared at it with such viciousness that Mats, who was watching him, was surprised it didn't burst into flames. Fips was dealing with Thomas and Manu and did not notice his friend's angry expression. So Mats decided to intervene.

"Hey, Boa," he said, mostly because he felt Basti needed a break. He rooted in his mind for something to say, and then remembered a conversation a few days back. "Benni was telling me a few days ago, your brother-"

Jerome's head jerked up sharply. Robert was suddenly staring hard at Mats.

"That Kevin-Prince, he got injured. He said it was pretty serious." Mats didn't quite know why Jerome looked so... unhappy, or why Fips was giving Jerome a carefully appraising look. "Did you get to talk to him?"

"Uh," Jerome muttered. "Not really. I just... I shot him a text and he... uh, ignored it."

The whole table was listening, now. Every German was well-acquainted with Kevin-Prince Boateng. He was the one who had ended Michael Ballack's international career, and his prickly personality compared to Jerome's had incited incredible media flames over the years when the brothers had met on the field. Nobody but Robert had any real idea of how bad the relationship really was, however- though Mats still felt as though his choice of icebreaker question had been fucking terrible. Jerome was staring down at his hands and Robert was looking angry.

Before he could apologise for unintentionally making Jerome feel uncomfortable, however, Nico appeared, informing the team that it was time to return to training. He ignored the chorus of groans and complaints as everyone looked out at the rain tipping down outside and decided the last thing they wanted to do was their jobs. 

"Wollen Sie die Bundesliga gewinnen?" he demanded of them. "Beeile dich!"

Jerome was on his feet instantly and left at once, Robert hurrying along in his wake. The remaining people on the table exchanged looks but said nothing out of respect for Jerome, going off to get ready for another round of training.

When they were all finally back on the training pitch, Leon had resolve in his heart. Joshua noticed his expression as they strolled down towards the two goalposts for another training game and decided to enquire as to why he looked like he was about to go to war.

"Why the hell do you look so... determined?" That was the only word Joshua could think for Leon's face at that moment. "Are you planning to win the Champions League from Sabener?" 

"No," Leon said patiently, glancing over to where Manu was putting his goalkeeper gloves on. "I'm planning on putting on a Champions League winning performance, though. I'll show you all what a real midfielder looks like."

Joshua looked over to where Leon was looking. Then he realised. "God. Are you that hung up about Manu yelling at you? Benni's so soft on you guys in Schalke."

"No he  _isn't_ , I'm not hung up," Leon said stubbornly, though Joshua was actually absolutely right. Though Benni's dry words were sharper than the pointiest blade sometimes, the man was often nothing more than a mother hen and usually treated the youngsters at Schalke with exceeding gentleness. "I'm just excited to show the coach why I should start in games. Because I'm a talented player. I put my all into  _everything._ "

"Leon, once you couldn't be bothered to mark me in the box so you just pretended to lose your balance and fall on me," Joshua said, and Leon winced. "I don't think this is about you having good  _work ethic._ You're one of the laziest people I know."

"You're one of the most  _annoying_ people I know. How'd you like them apples?" Leon responded. 

"Whoa. I thought we were dealing with Manu here, but you just summoned Marc-Andre."

"I-" Leon pinched the bridge of his nose, incapable of dealing with Joshua. "I? Me? This bitch right here? This bitch is going to go and play good football. You can go and get shown up by Fips.  _I'm_ going to show up  _everyone._ "

Leon marched off to his position in midfield. He  _wished_ he had Robert on his side, but the Polish striker was on the other team and so he had Thomas playing as forward on his side.  Franck and Arjen were on his side, Serge and Kingsley on the other side. Hopefully the two Bayern legends could prove their reputation by helping Leon fucking win this thing.

Jerome was on Robert's side- Nico had learned quickly that separating the centre back and the striker was  _not_ a good idea for team cohesion. Before Nico could blow his whistle and signal the start of the practice game, Robert quickly kissed Jerome's forehead, giving his boyfriend a look that said,  _you can vent as much as you want to me later._ Jerome nodded, squeezing Robert's hand as the forward slipped into position. 

Thiago was the one who started with the ball, and in true Thiago style, he initiated a perfect pass to Robert. Leon cursed. Although he idolised the man, Robert was his enemy above all enemies in this match and Leon knew at once that the real goal of this game was getting that fucking ball well away from him. He ran forwards, about to try and dispossess.  _Robert_ would be the one getting yelled at after Leon got the-

Except he wouldn't, because Robert got past Leon. Leon cringed and turned around at the speed of light, sprinting to regain his mark. It was Mats who ended up tackling Robert, right as he got close to the box. Mats passed to Leon, who decided to repent for his mistake by showing exactly why he had been called Germany's future. He started dribbling down the pitch, successfully evading Thiago and-

"I'm sorry for making fun of you for the advert!" Leon yelled, as Fips tackled him and took the ball. "Is that enough?"

"No," Fips said sweetly, before passing up to Robert again, who had to pass to Thiago, who passed back to Jerome because the other side were in good marking positions. Jerome passed up to Kingsley, who demonstrated his pace as he always liked to do during practice, the smug bastard. Fortunately, Leon was known for his pace too-

He managed to dispossess Kingsley, and, feeling a little too delighted with himself, passed straight to Serge, who had been running up to get Kingsley's pass. 

"GORETZKA!" Manu bellowed from his goal. Leon jumped as if he had been shot.

Fortunately, he was saved from his mistake by Mats, who intercepted Serge's cross for Robert. Leon didn't quite want to look at Manu as his side regained possession. Joshua gave Leon a look as they jogged side by side, making themselves available for a pass as Franck and Arjen did their thing and cut through the pitch. 

"Good show, Leon," he muttered. Leon shoved him and received a sharp word from Nico, who had just finished criticising him about him giving the ball away. 

All in all, his plan to show everyone up hadn't quite been going well so far. Jerome had managed to tackle Arjen and had delivered a pass with pinpoint accuracy to his boyfriend.

"Robert, I really love you and you're a great guy, but can you let me dispossess you this once so I can look impressive in front of Manu?" Leon gasped, as he ran up with Robert, trying to get the ball off of him. "I'll never mention a certain Coke Zero advert again."

Robert looked at Leon with his eyes widening. This was an offer that was so tempting, so tangible, and all Robert had to sacrifice was possession in a training game? He was down.

He slowed down a bit on the ball. Shocked that Robert had actually agreed to do it, Leon took the opportunity and stole the ball from him. 

"Good one, Goretzka!" Manu called approvingly from goal. His heart shining, Leon dribbled down the pitch, absolutely prepared to take advantage of his momentarily gained brownie points-

Only to get dispossessed a few moments later. By  _Robert._

"Hey, you asked if I could let you dispossess me  _once,_ " Robert said, in response to Leon's horrified, open-mouth betrayal. "You never said I had to let you win the game."

"Oh, so you're feeling on your game today, are you?" Leon yelled back furiously. Robert sighed, but he didn't feel too much grief about the death of their deal, he was still being forced to hear abuse from everyone else, so Leon stopping the insults wouldn't have changed much anyway.

"You're really showing off your skills, here, Leo," Joshua said, as Leon had to pause for a moment to contemplate the duality of man. "I'm sure Manu is  _incredibly_ impressed with you.

Leon glanced back, and saw that Manu was... decidedly  _not_ impressed. Robert, the snake, ended up scoring, and Manu stood up from where he had dived and started berating his teammates for being all over the place and not focusing on the game. Leon's eyes darted away the second Manu looked at him. He needed to preserve himself. 

Unfortunately, self-preservation was apparently not what Leon's guardian angel had planned for him that day. He was consistently making good runs forward, but he kept getting fucking intercepted, and it was Joshua and Mats that were saving him. Thomas was the only one really shining at the moment, but unfortunately, scoring was apparently physically impossible for him.

"ICH GLAUBE ES NICHT!" Thomas hollered, as his shot bounced off the inside of the post, saving Sven from a really embarrassing mistake. "DAS WAR EIN WITZ!"

" _Du_ bist ein Witz, Müller!" Fips, whom Thomas had passed on his way to goal, called back. "Need to be a bit more clinical to score, it's how football works!"

"Go and fucking drown in a vat of Coke Zero!" Thomas yelled at him. Nico blew his whistle and demanded that they get back on track.

'On track', unfortunately, was a fucking warzone. Infuriated by the fact every shot he was putting through was simply not going in, Thomas had forgotten what passing was and was pressing forwards to try and get a goal. He was easily intercepted by Jerome who passed up to  _Robert,_ as per usual.

But Leon was going to take his vengeance. He'd be  _damned_ if he let Robert score again after he had inflicted such a gross betrayal on Leon. He was going to pay the Polishman back in kind for his actions.

"Josh!" Leon yelled, as Joshua went to approach Robert. "Don't cl-"

Joshua cleared the ball. Off the pitch. Nico whistled to signal a corner for Robert's side, and Leon covered his face with his hands as Robert smirked, being the most prolific scorer from corners of perhaps everyone ever.

"KIMMICH!" Manu yelled. Joshua cringed. "DID YOU JUST CLEAR THE BALL OFF THE PITCH FOR NO FUCKING REASON? ARE WE IN A  FUCKING YOUTH TEAM? DID YOU FORGET EVERY CRUCIAL LESSON OF DEFENDING ON YOUR WAY HERE? NOW YOU'VE GIVEN THEM A GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY TO SCORE!"

"Good  _show,_ Josh," Leon said, delighted that now someone else had been yelled at. Joshua gave him an expression that said,  _I want to turn you into soup._

Unfortunately, as with everything in Leon's miserable life, his smugness did not last long. Rafinha from the other side went to take the corner for the other team. The levels of trash talking had reached new levels. Thomas was furious at Robert, who had already scored and was being cocky about it. Manu was furious at Robert for having already gotten past him. Fips was furious at David for making both a short joke and a Coke Zero joke all at once. It seemed that  _everything_ was riding off of this corner. If one side lost control of it, there was liable to be a war.

The ball went sailing into the box. It was a battle- everyone was shoving into each other, forgetting all about tactical marking and deciding to shithouse their way into a result. After a moment of battle with Jerome, Leon, displaying his aerial prowess that he was so famed for, jumped into the air. He was going to direct it off for the clearance.

His head  _did_ connect with the ball. Only one moment later, he wished it hadn't.

"GOREEEEETZKKKKKKKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" A bull-like roar emitted from in between the goalposts.

He had just headed it perfectly... If pundits saw it, they would have raved for centuries... 

The small problem was, it was in the wrong goal. 

There was no happy ending to this story. Manu bellowed at Leon for five and a half minutes straight (Leon was counting in his mind), then Leon got subbed off for Xabi, then their side proceeded to lose 7-3- with Thomas missing every shot on target. Robert was the one who scored the other five goals for the other team, and it was Arjen who scored the consolation hattrick for Leon's.

And when the game was over, Robert patted Leon on the shoulder.

"Do you know, I  _am_ feeling on my game today," he said cheerfully. "Great header, though!" 

Leon would have killed him, but he saw Manu approaching out of the corner of his eye- and, being human, his fight or flight response kicked in instead and he decided to fucking  _run._

***

It had taken them a long time to leave the bedroom. Neither of them  _wanted_ to. It felt to Bernd that Marc-Andre's bed was a sanctuary, a place that existed in a bubble away from the rest of the world, a place where they didn't have to face reality for a while. But he knew that they couldn't stay there forever. Especially since Bernd's phone was going  _insane_ now, all because he had sent that one message to Mesut. Now they were going to have to step out of their protection and face the music.

When Bernd had shown Marc-Andre the messages from the morons back in London (and Sami), the man had gone a little pale. And then he had announced that he needed to take a shower or risk dying, and he had leapt out of bed to escape. Bernd empathised- he had made his own escape plans, most of them involving jumping out of windows and some legal papers. But he knew he had to stick with Marc-Andre- they were both in this together now. He decided he was going to be helpful, and resolved to make them both some breakfast so they didn't have to plan their next step on empty stomachs. He stole out of Marc-Andre's bed, and, feeling distinctly like an intruder in this large, airy house, made his way down to the kitchen. 

For a very annoying reason, Bernd knew  _exactly_ how Marc-Andre liked his eggs. It was a fact that had stuck in his mind ever since the U-17 tournament of 2009.

_"Mario," Marc-Andre called from across the table. "Can you pass me the poached eggs? I can't stick fried."_

_Mario shrugged and made to reach for them, but Bernd, suddenly seized with a malicious urge (he still hadn't forgiven the bastard for throwing his things out of the window), leaned over and pushed them further up the table, so it was out of  his reach. Mario just sighed, returning to his own food._

_"They're too far away," he said, gesturing at the eggs further down. Marc-Andre looked outraged. "Go and get them yourself."_

Deciding to repent around a decade later, Bernd examined Marc-Andre's fridge. Indeed, there was a carton of eggs. And the yoghurt drinks they both loved (though Marc-Andre had once staunchly insisted he hated them! The salty bastard). Bernd got out everything he needed, rummaging in Marc-Andre's cupboards for some pans and pots, and started to put together some food.

When Marc-Andre stepped out of the shower, dressed in a T-Shirt and some shorts, his hair still damp, his first thought when he returned to the bedroom was,  _Bernd's done a runner._ The other goalkeeper was nowhere in sight, the bed completely vacant. It was only when he saw the man's suitcase in the corner of the room that he realised Bernd was still here- and he relaxed a little bit. But where _was_ his- he?

Marc-Andre wandered around his own house as if he wasn't quite familiar with it, almost bumping into a wall in his dazed state as he left his bedroom. As he made his way down the staircase, his nose was greeted by the scent of... food. He blinked and then he sped up a little bit, wondering if he was losing his mind-

He wasn't, though it would not be long until he did. As he stepped into the kitchen, he was greeted with the sight of Bernd's bare back- the man was wearing grey jogging bottoms and nothing else. Why did Marc-Andre find his shoulder blades so fucking attractive? They were just shoulder blades. Shaking off his initial punch-drunk feeling, Marc-Andre made his way into the kitchen, and realised that Bernd was... cooking.

Surely he had entered an alternate reality.

_"What did you do that for?" Marc-Andre demanded of Bernd, who folded his arms and smirked. "Do you get kicks out of being a dickhead on purpose?"_

_"Hmm, let me think," Bernd said, tapping his chin as Mario looked like  he was going to regret not just getting Marc-Andre his eggs. "If it's to you, nothing in the world gives me greater pleasure."_

_The players around them were all either rolling their eyes or sitting forward in their chairs in excitement. Bernd and Marc-Andre had offered nothing but entertainment to them over the past couple of weeks._

_"Hey, look," Mario said, standing up and taking a hold of the eggs. "Look, problem solved. Eggs right here, now you can sit back down, Marc-"_

_Bernd reacted quickly and snatched the eggs from Mario's hands._

"Bernd?" Marc-Andre asked weakly, taking a tentative step towards the man standing by the stove as if he were a lunatic carrying a dangerous axe. "What... What are you doing?"

Bernd whipped his head around, looking inordinately shocked. And then he clutched his heart and laughed.

"Oh. Jeez. Ha. You scared me. Hi. I'm, um, cooking?" Bernd gestured to the pans and pots he was using. "That's okay, right? I thought, um, that you might like some breakfast. Because... I don't know. I guess you normally eat breakfast? Most important meal of the day and everything."

He looked down. The sight of Bernd being shy was so out of this world that Marc-Andre actually physically pinched himself, before speaking.

" _You're_ cooking it?" he demanded, rather more accusingly than he had intended to. "I mean, uh, you're cooking it? You didn't have to, I could've made us something."

"It's alright," Bernd said awkwardly. "You were in the shower, so... I decided to make it. I made, um, poached eggs?"

Marc-Andre's eyes widened.

 _"I am going to slap you_ so  _hard," Marc-Andre promised Bernd, who was holding his eggs high above his head. "I'm going to take your eyes out of your ugly face and turn them into soup."_

 _"That's fine by me. I won't have to see you anymore if you do," Bernd said with a smirk. "Why don't you come and get your_ eggs,  _ter Stegen?"_

_"Leno!" the coach called from down the table. "Are you horsing around again?"_

_"I'm doing what needs to be done, Coach,"  Bernd said evilly. "Marc-Andre needs to learn how to_ reach  _if he wants to get those difficult balls, eh?"_

_There were giggles from the crowd of seventeen year olds. Mario just rolled his eyes for the fiftieth time._

_"Okay, Leno," Marc-Andre said coldly. "I'm going to come and_ reach  _right now."_

"Oh..." he said finally, with a gulp. "That's nice. I like poached eggs. They're my favourite type of egg. Way better than  _fried,_ a bit better than scrambled. Though I'd never be able to eat fried eggs regularly anyway because of dietary rules. Not that I'd eat them anyway. I can't-"

"Stick them," Bernd said absent-mindedly. 

Marc-Andre blinked. Bernd blinked. 

"Y-You say it all the time," Bernd mumbled. "That you can't stick fried eggs. I remember things that people are whining about all the time."

"And you remembered that poached eggs are my favourite," Marc-Andre said softly.

"Yeah," Bernd muttered. "I guess I did."

_Marc-Andre stormed around the table to reach Bernd. Already the chants of "kämpfen, kämpfen, kämpfen"  were in the air. The coach was standing up warily, his whistle already trapped between his teeth, and Mario was debating over whether he should get involve or leave them to it..._

_"Give them_ here,  _Leno!" Marc-Andre yelled, lunging for the eggs. But the fact remained that Bernd was taller than him. The keeper danced backwards, cackling as everyone else continued to cheer and the coach began blowing his whistle-_

_"You've got to try harder, what if an opponent puts it into the top corner?" Bernd taunted, as Marc-Andre kept trying to leap up to get the eggs. "What if you miss the ball? That's a clean sheet gone!"_

_"Don't talk to me about clean sheets as if you know what they are!" Marc-Andre yelled scornfully. There was a chorus of 'oohs' from the boys and even the disapproving Mario snorted loudly._

_Bernd's expression darkened. "Oh, okay, you want to be like that, ter Stegen?"_

_"Yeah, I do! Only_ I'm  _telling the truth when I say stuff like this!" Marc-Andre laughed derisively._

_But he wasn't laughing for long. Bernd returned his eggs to him- but not in the way he wanted. The taller boy turned the bowl of poached eggs upside down and tipped them onto Marc-Andre's head._

_"LENO!" the coach bellowed, as Marc-Andre started swearing and everyone screamed with laughter. "YOU'RE RUNNING FIVE LAPS ALONGSIDE HIM!"_

_"That's for throwing my stuff out of the window!" Bernd yelled at Marc-Andre, who charged at him, ready to attack. The two of them went down again and started wrestling for the fiftieth time that tournament, as the coach's whistle nearly broke from how much he was blowing it and everyone started howling with mirth._

The older Marc-Andre charged towards Bernd as well. The Arsenal keeper actually looked somewhat shocked as he approached, as if he was expecting to be knocked down again, but instead, he was gifted a kiss. His arms flailed by his sides for a moment, he wasn't quite sure what to do with them, but eventually he put them around Marc-Andre's neck.

When they drew apart, Marc-Andre was blushing furiously and Bernd looked a little stunned. 

"Uh... You're welcome?" he said, as Marc-Andre let go of him. "They're just eggs."

"Poached eggs," Marc-Andre said, stepping away. "My favourite."

"Yeah, well," Bernd mumbled. "I thought it was high time I made things up with you. It took a long time to get the egg out of your hair back then, didn't it?"

And he moved his hands up to run his fingers through Marc-Andre's damp hair, before planting a tentative kiss on his forehead, as if trying to heal the damage he had inflicted all those years ago.

***

_Sami liked to claim he was sun-kissed, but even his skin wasn't a match for the hot Brazilian sun. Brazil's temperatures were simply too much for his German blood- although he had learnt to deal with Mediterrenean heat during his time in Madrid, this South American weather was something else. He had only been walking for about twenty minutes but he was already pouring with sweat._

_It was decidedly worse for Mesut. The Arsenal player had been complaining non-stop pretty much since they had stepped outside. The team had been released for the day and given permission to explore the surroundings around Campo Bahia, providing they didn't get lost or killed while by themselves. Many of them had decided to split up instead of sticking together- it had been one of those days where they weren't exactly craving each other's company. Lukas and Basti had gone off alone to the beach, Manu and Thomas had apparently found bikes and had gone cycling through the countryside, Jerome and Toni had stuck with the lonely Mario, Benni and Mats were wrapped up in each other in the resort, and everyone else had found their own pursuits for the afternoon. Mesut and Sami had decided to go exploring._

_Sami would have gone back in time to change this, however, had he been given the chance. Mesut had started off relatively quiet at first as they had made their way up one of the many hills surrounding the resort, but then the whining had begun. They had just reached the top, where there was a beautiful view of the ocean in the distance, but Mesut was more focused on-_

_"Sweat patches!" he moaned, trying to wriggle his arms about as if to give them more air. "This is disgusting. This weather should be banned. I'm going to melt."_

_"Isn't Turkey hot?" Sami demanded. "I thought you went there on holiday all the time? Do you always complain this much when you're there?"_

_Mesut gave him a sulky look. "It's not as hot as this. This is just ridiculous."_

_"You'll survive, big boy," Sami sighed. "Here, look at this view. You don't see_ this  _every day in London, do you? Appreciate your surroundings instead of whinging about them, you big baby."_

 _It_ was _undeniably beautiful up here. The rolling scenery, the stretch of blue in the distance, the sunny and cloudless sky... Few places Sami had been to had felt so... pure. Madrid was gorgeous but the relative peace of the Brazillian countryside was so far unmatched for him. He picked up his camera, which was hanging around his neck, and snapped a photo of the sight._

_Mesut seemed to heed Sami's advice- for a few minutes, they stood quietly at the top of the hill, gazing around at everything, before they decided to get moving again. Navigating the hilly terrain was only food for Mesut's sullen behaviour, however, and soon he had moved on from complaining about the heat to complaining about-_

_"Fucking rocks!"  Mesut kicked out at one of the offending objects he had tripped over on his way downhill and watched it roll into a nearby stream with a look of savage pleasure on his face. "That's like the fifth one of those I've fucking fallen over. This landscape is perilous for my health."_

_Sami rolled his eyes, hard. "You fucking pussy. Imagine if you got injured from one of these tiny little pebbles, what would I say to Jogi?"_

_"You'd tell him I suffered a grievous mountaineering injury."_

_"We aren't even on a hill anymore. We're literally on flat ground." Sami gestured around him. Mesut ignored him. "I thought football players were meant to be athletic?"_

_"I am athletic! My body is just suited to... different pursuits."_

_Sami snorted. "Don't let Thomas hear you say something like that. He'd find some way to twist those words."_

_"He always does. They're all like that," Mesut said dispassionately, blushing as he realised the connotations of what he had just said. "Marco's the worst with that, too. It's unbelievable._ _But you know what, Sami? I'd give pretty much anything to hear Marco twisting my words right now. I miss that guy."_

_"I know," Sami said sadly. Marco's injury had pretty much impacted the mood of the entire squad when it had happened, so much so that the coach journey back from that qualifiying match had been completely silent. "We just have to fight to win for him, eh?"_

_"I can't fight to win while my life's being threatened," Mesut muttered. Sami sighed and decided to shut him up by seizing him in a headlock for a bit. "Ow! Get off me, you big dick!"_

_"Let's find somewhere to sit down," Sami said, releasing him when Mesut had promised to stop complaining for a bit. "And let you catch your breath."_

_"I don't need to catch my breath," Mesut protested. "But I would like to sit down."_

_So the intrepid explorers paused their journey for a bit and tried to find a nice place to sit. Against all dietary laws, Sami had bought two Berlinern from a local store (he had been surprised to see they stored the pastries and had seized his opportunity) and he had been craving them ever since they had entered his bag. However, Mesut refused to sit down where they were at the moment, because there were 'too many bugs in the area, and his emotional health couldn't endure them'. So they had to trek a little further, Sami getting closer to the edge by the second as Mesut deemed each location 'too sticky', 'too high up', 'too grassy'..._

_But eventually, they stumbled across a field of yellows, blues, reds and purples. Sami blinked a little bit in surprise, and then he realised that it was a field of flowers. And it was beautiful. Even Mesut smiled appreciatively at the sight, and as Sami took out his camera, he dived into the shot with a grin. Sami snapped a picture of the scene, and checked the photo- there was Mesut, grinning cheekily at the camera, his eyes glinting as the sunlight struck him._

_"Let's sit here," Mesut said enthusiastically. "It's really nice here."_

_Relieved that Mesut was finally on board with sitting, and that he had actually picked somewhere good to sit, Sami flopped onto the ground. A moment later, Mesut joined him- and he threw his head into Sami's lap._

_Sami was momentarily surprised, before he shrugged his bag off his shoulders and rummaged inside it for his snacks. Mesut opened his mouth for a Berliner and Sami slotted one of the pastries in his mouth._

_For quite a while, the two of them were quiet. Sometimes, there were moments where even the rowdiest of Germans could stop talking and appreciate things. And there were plenty of things to appreciate around here. The sea was still visible in the distance, an ever so gentle breeze had begun to ripple at the flowers, and the sun had stopped shining so harshly, having been obscured by a solitary wisp of cloud.  The two buffoons munched on their pastries, feeling a vague, untraceable happiness, and, for the first time since they had gotten to this country, at peace. The pressure of the World Cup and country pride seemed to have fade away with their words, and the only thing the two of them really registered was each other's presence, and the beauty of Brazil._

_Finally, Sami shifted a bit as Mesut curled up a little more in his lap._

_"Is this place suitable enough for you, Queen Mesut?" he joked, tapping his friend's nose, surprised at how long he had enjoyed the peace of no whining."Or do you want me to quickly plant you a few trees so you can have some more shade?"_

_Mesut looked up at Sami with his mouth full of Berliner and said something incoherent._

_"Finish your mouthful, you savage," Sami said, raising his eyes to the heavens and asking for some divine intervention to sort his friend out._

_Mesut swallowed and then spoke again. "I said, no. This is perfect."_

_"Perfect!" Sami gasped. He looked around at all the flowers. "There must be some sort of mind-altering chemical in these things, if_ you're _saying something is perfect."_

_Mesut considered this statement, and then leaned over to pluck one of the flowers, twirling it between his fingers. Sami watched the bloom being cradled between those delicate hands, his brow suddenly creasing. There were a few moments of silence, and then Mesut opened his mouth._

_"There's one thing that isn't so perfect, I guess," he said slowly._

_"Oh?" Sami said in amusement. "I knew it was too good to be true. What's imperfect about_ this? _"_

_He gestured around him, genuinely not seeing how Mesut could find something negative about this._

_Smiling a little, Mesut turned in Sami's lap so they were fully making eye contact._

_"What's imperfect... is that this moment can't last forever."_

_Sami blinked down at Mesut, caught by surprise by his words. But then a soft smile spread across his face. Mesut was right. This quiet moment, sitting in the midst of a field of flowers, could not last forever. They'd have to return to Campo Bahia eventually- to blistering reality, to the heat of competition and the pressure of their country's expectations. Right now was a brief escape from it all. But still- he felt that the positives outweighed the negatives._

_"That's true," he said gently. "Do you know what else is imperfect, too?"_

_"What?" Mesut asked, gazing up at Sami._

_"Arsenal."_

_Mesut's eyes widened, and then, suddenly, he lunged at Sami, trying to punch every inch of him. The midfielder burst out laughing, holding his arms over his head to defend himself._

_"You- are- so- annoying!" Mesut yelled, punctuating each word with a blow. "I- was- trying- to- be- nice- and- sentimental- but- you- had- to- be- a- prick!"_

_"Hey, hey!" Sami chuckled, catching his friend's hands. "I took in the sentimentality. I agree with you, Mes. It's sad this moment can't last forever. But there's always new moments, eh? The best thing about an event like the World Cup is that it'll keep on giving us more to remember. Hell, if we end up winning this thing, we'll probably end up having_ too _much to remember, with the state our team is in. We've gotta push forwards, hm?"_

_Mesut relaxed, his hands returning to his sides. "You're right. For once. But it's nice to have a break sometimes."_

_"It is," Sami agreed. "But that's not why we're here. We're here to win. And we'll do it. You know that, right?"_

_Mesut smiled again. "Yeah. I know. This time we'll get to the end."_

_"And we'll never forget a moment of this," Sami said, gesturing around him. "I know that for sure._ "

Sami leaned backwards on his sofa, gripping the photograph in his hand between his thumb and index finger, the words he had said four years ago echoing in his mind.  _There's always new moments._

The photo was of the field of flowers, where Mesut had dived into his shot. Sami couldn't help but think the photograph was one of the most beautiful he had taken. Purely to indulge his boredom, he had decided to go through the old albums he used to store his pictures in, and he had found this one at the front of the World Cup 2014 one. At the back of the photo, there was a message, scribbled by Mesut- _There was t_ _oo much to remember, but I won't forget a single moment of it. Love you, Sam x_

Sami swallowed. He had so many moments with Mesut, and he wanted more. But they were so far apart...

He sighed. He was being so ridiculous. Getting all sentimental over a photograph. Mesut probably wasn't thinking too much about him, let alone moping over old memories. He stowed the photo back into the album after reading and re-reading Mesut's message and closed the book with a finality that probably wasn't final at all- he was probably going to be rooting through this thing a lot.

 _You'll see him again, soon, fool,_ he told himself. _Just_ _not for long enough._

***

Jerome had been unnaturally silent all throughout the journey home. Robert hadn't tried to force his boyfriend to talk. He had just put one of Jerome's favourite songs on the radio and they had driven quietly all the way back to their house.

When they had gotten indoors, Jerome had given Robert a quick kiss, but that had been the extent of their interaction- Jerome had disappeared upstairs after that. Robert let him go without saying too much. When Jerome wanted to speak, he usually spoke, and if it wasn't now, that was fine by Robert. He wanted to give his boyfriend time. Robert went about his normal business- which involved a lot of serious productivity, as he stretched himself out on the sofa and prepared himself for a vigorous watching session of Peaky Blinders.

He kept Jerome in his mind as he watched the subtitles and listened to Cillian Murphy's gravelly, sexy voice. Like it or not, however, he simply couldn't understand the accents in the show without subtitles. Whilst normally he'd be able to lose himself in the show, however, he found himself getting regularly distracted by worry. So much so that he had started gnawing on his thumbnail to stop him from getting up and searching for Jerome.  _He just needs a bit of space._

Eventually, however, his concern got the better of him. He could just poke his head into Jerome's room and see if the man was okay. He paused his episode and stood up, making his way upstairs, thinking about all that had happened today. Jerome had been a little quiet since even before Mats had asked him about Kevin. Robert supposed that what had happened during lunch must have triggered some sort of emotion inside of him. He shook his head to himself as he walked up the steps. Jerome's family business was none of  _his_ business, really, and that was why he had suppressed all his anger about the situation for the years he had known his boyfriend. But all his self-imposed passivity did was make him feel completely useless. And feeling so useless drove him crazy.

When he reached the bedroom and poked his head in, Jerome wasn't there. Robert blinked, but before he decided to panic, he remembered that there was more than one room in the house. He checked the bathroom, which was empty, and some of the guest bedrooms, which were also empty, and rotated on the spot on the landing, feeling utterly bewildered. And then he remembered the attic.

He went up the steps to the top room of the house, and indeed, Jerome was in there. Robert opened the door slowly- his boyfriend was sitting in the middle of the small room, a box in between his legs.

Robert didn't really know what to say. He stood there, being about as useful as a branch lying in the middle of a road, wondering if he should say anything.

Before he could say anything, however, Jerome had looked up from his box and made eye contact with him. Robert pointed towards the door, asking silently,  _shall I leave?_ But Jerome shook his head. He beckoned for Robert to enter the room. 

So Robert did. He walked all the way to the centre, to where Jerome was sitting, and sat down opposite him. Jerome gave him a watery smile.

"Hi, baby," he said softly. "Sorry about how I've been acting today."

Robert shook his head. "You never have to say sorry to me for feeling sad, Jeri."

Jerome's lips quirked further up at the corners. "Even when I'm being annoyingly overemotional about something stupid?"

"It's not stupid, Jeri," Robert said insistently. "Not stupid at all. And you can be overemotional about anything you like and I'd never, ever get annoyed by it. You know that."

"I do," Jerome whispered, laughing a little. It was a cute laugh- but a sad one. Robert stared at him and then down at his hands- Jerome was clutching a photograph between his fingers.

Jerome noticed where his gaze had travelled, and handed the photo over to Robert. Robert took the picture and looked down at it. In it were two young boys, grinning fiendishly at the camera. But they looked happy. Robert recognised Jerome on the left, beaming to his heart's content, but he didn't quite recognise the boy next to him. But he had a very good idea of who it was.

"Me and my brother," Jerome explained, and Robert nodded in understanding. "When we used to go on holiday, when we were kids."

"You went to Turkey, didn't you?" Robert said, gazing down at the young, happy Jerome, and Kevin-Prince Boateng, who looked far more joyful than Robert had ever seen him in real life. 

Jerome grinned. "Yeah. It's beautiful there. We stayed at this house by the sea. Kev would wake up before everyone else and insist we go swimming and searching for sharks. I used to get scared as hell, but he promised me he had a way of dealing with sharks that would turn their teeth into rubber. Obviously we never found any, but I still believed he had the magical power to stop them until I was like, twelve, and we went to an aquarium."

" _Twelve?_ Now that's what I call gullible," Robert laughed at the story.

"Hey, you try not falling for a big brother's tales. He was incredibly convincing." Jerome smiled. "He told me all sorts of things. Sometimes it was mean things- I refused to touch watermelons for about a year because he told me that the seeds would grow in your stomach and make you look pregnant. But sometimes he told me nice things, too. When I first found out what racism was, he told me that all those people were jealous of us because we had talents they didn't have. He told me stuff like, they'd grow up to have all their teeth fall out, but ours would be beautiful and white forever, so they were spiteful."

"You do have beautiful teeth," Robert said softly. Jerome flashed them in a bright grin. 

"When we grew up, he stopped telling me stuff like that. Instead, he told me to fight them. That's what he did. He went in, fists flying, at anyone who dared to make a comment around us. His knuckles would be stained with blood from all the noses he'd punch in, but he'd tell our Vater that it wasn't enough. He wanted them to suffer more.  I could never be like that. I'm not a fighter and I never have been. I don't have the same anger."

"You fight them in a different way," Robert said quietly. 

"I never had the courage to kick the ball into a crowd of racists and storm off the pitch, and I've been dealing with that shit all my damn life," Jerome said wistfully. "Kev always had that fighting part of him. It was what made us so different. I was the reluctant kid dragged into all his mischief, and he was the one seeking the fun and excitement for the both of us."

"People are different. You don't have to feel bad about it, Jeri."

Jerome sighed. "He sure makes me feel that way, sometimes." 

"That's the problem with it all," Robert said a little more aggressively. "He puts you down because he thinks you're weaker than him, just because you're not the same as him. It's not okay, Jeri. He treats you as if you're causing the problems when all you've done is tried to make peace with him."

"He thinks I don't do enough," Jerome murmured. "He doesn't think I have a powerful enough resolve. After the Michael thing... He thought I was standing back and letting people attack him, he thought I betrayed him. He was furious about my silence, about me trying to be a pacifist instead of actively defending him. He punched me right in the eye, and I couldn't bring myself to raise my fists back. And that made him even angrier. From then on, it all went to shit."

"It's not your fault," Robert said seriously, his hand tightening on the photograph. "He can't blame you for the consequences of his own actions. He can't accuse everyone but himself of causing his own problems."

"I think he just felt it was the straw that broke his back," Jerome mumbled. "He's always been criticising me about me being too... me. He grew up in Wedding and I grew up in Charlottenburg. He threw his fists and I kept my mouth shut. He acted and I endured." 

"That's how you are, and it's not a problem," Robert said fiercely. "You're the best person I know, Jeri. You're quiet but it doesn't mean you just lie down. He says you don't have a powerful enough resolve? I say fucking bullshit. I've seen a spark in your eyes that's worth more than a hundred words you could have been shouting. And you always,  _always_ act when it's necessary. You're so fucking strong, Jeri.  If your brother doesn't see that, if he doesn't think you're worth loving unconditionally because of it, then I say... I say..."

He faltered. He didn't want to tell Jerome to ditch his brother. He knew it wasn't as simple as that.

"I wish I could go back," Jerome said in a small voice. "To before the point all of this mattered. Where we were just silly kids who didn't have to think about resolve and being fighters and facing off discrimination. He loved me back then."

"He should love you now," Robert said firmly. "You're worth all the love in the world. It's not a question about what you're lacking. It's a question of what he's just refusing to see."

He reached his hands out and took Jerome's. He felt a drop of water fall onto his skin and saw that Jerome was crying.

"I love you so much, Rob," he whispered. "I don't know what the hell I'd do without you."

"I love you too," Robert murmured. "And you won't need to know. Because you'll never be without me."

He leaned forwards to kiss him, and then passed the photograph back. Jerome held it in his hand for a moment, before returning it back to the box gently and closing it- feeling awfully as though he'd never, ever be able to close the lid forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a weird one, there was the goofy bayern bit at the beginning but also a lot of the past being mentioned with the manu story, bernd and marc-andre, mesami and jerome and kevin. i hope you guys enjoyed this chap, i got a bit introspective with it all :o
> 
> thank you all for reading! you're all my favourite people. and lacey/fangirlsforever! if you're somehow reading this note, drop me a comment so i know you're still alive! i miss you guys, i hope you havent been too busy that its just fucking killed yall hahaha 
> 
> love you guys! <3


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus jeder! wie geht's? i am D Y I N G, our heater broke so it's been freezing cold and i've been layered in like sixty blankets. we have a mini-heater but i won't live properly until we finally get REAL warmth back :P
> 
> let's get right into it! this chapter is... bad, lol

  _bayern won the bundesliga_

 **Mesut:** i have an Enquiry

 **Julian D:** What kind, bby ;)

 **Joshua:** pardon?

**Mesut:**

**Julian D:** I-

 **Julian D:** It was just meant to be an amusing-

 **Julian D:** You know what? Nvm. Just enquire Mesut.

 **Joshua:** that's what i fucking thought.

 **Mesut:** um ok?? sure??

 **Mesut:** here's my question

 **Mesut:** if yall had to pick one another club to play for

 **Mesut:** what club would it be?

 **Sami:** Ah, Mes

 **Sami:** Always told you it would happen eventually.

 **Mesut:** what did u tell me?

 **Sami:** You've run out of patience with Arsenal.

 **Sami:** You're looking for somewhere else to go.

 **Sami:** Like I've said on many an occasion, Juve's door is always open!

 **Miro:** I wou;d not like hat.

 **Miro:** I pla y for Lazio and Mesut is my friend

 **Mesut:** don't worry miro hunny ur safe <33 id never join the crew of glory hunters

 **Sami:** At least we've had some glory... lmao

 **Mesut:** first of all, sami

 **Mesut:** i genuinely want to turn your face into a target board for archery.

 **Mesut:** second of all

 **Mesut:** i have NOT run out of patience with arsenal because we are a GOOD TEAM.

 **Julian B:** *clears throat*

 **Julian B:** *checks last league victory for arsenal*

 **Julian B:** *sees it's 2004*

 **Julian B:** *taps microphone and puffs up chest*

 **Julian B:** you: i, mesut ozil, am an unsuccessful fraud.

 **Mesut:** julian.

 **Mesut:** you play for LEVERKUSEN.

 **Julian B:** and what.

 **Mesut:** i seriously cannot comprehend how you think you can roast me

 **Mesut:** seriously some of you have unparalleled levels of audacity!

 **Mesut:** i'm more successful than you will EVER be!!

 **Julian B:**                         ok, first of all

 **Julian B:** ♪that hurt♪

 **Julian B:** that is all

 **Julian D:** I'm gonna answer your question actually, a real first for this group chat

 **Benni:** Answer it, Julian! See where that gets you.

 **Julian D:**... I was gonna say I'd play for Schalke

**Benni: And what? What did you think would happen? Did you think I'd drop everything and rush forwards and embrace you? Did you think I'd drop all my bitterness in a trice and cry, "Oh, Julian, thank you, I'm so glad you still think of us?"**

**Julian D:** You are definitely worse than Marco

 **Mats:** he is not.

 **Mats:** don't put that disrespect on my boyfriend's name

 **Mats:** hmmm if i was gonna play for another club, that's a good one

 **Marco:** oh, you have a long list, don't you, hummels? 

**Mats:**

**Mats:** anyway, as i was saying

 **Mats:** i'd probably play for... hm...

 **Mats:** chelsea

 **Marco:** LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 

 **Basti:** EX-FUCKING-CUSE ME HUMMELS? EX-FUCKING-CUSE ME?

 **Mario Gom:** That made me so angry

 **Mario Gom:** Thanks Mats, you made me angry

 **Fips:** I'm going to pour a second water bottle on you.

 **Fips:** But this one will be full of acid.

 **Jerome:** hahahahahaha you're the fucking worst hummels.

 **Mats:** i am genuinely so confused

 **Mats:** whats wrong with chelsea

 **Fips:** Ask that question again.

 **Fips:** I dare you.

 **Mats:** wha

 **Mats:** oh

 **Mats:** OH

 **Marco:** HAHAHAHAH IS THIS YOUR PRIZED CENTREBACK

 **Jerome:** no. that's me.

 **Niklas:** And me

 **Niklas:** We don't need him

 **Mats:** guys i am S O R R Y but i have to say

 **Mats:** im allowed to say that bc i wasn't with you then

 **Basti:** are you?

 **Basti:** ARE YOU?

 **Basti:** WHY DON'T YOU COME AND SAY IT TO MY FACE TOMORROW THEN?

 **Basti:** I'LL SHOW YOU EXACTLY HOW ALLOWED YOU ARE

 **Basti:** FREEDOM OF SPEECH, FREEDOM FOR ME TO PUNCH YOUR LIGHTS OUT

 **Mats:** i- 

 **Mats:** benni, was what i said really that out of pocket???

 **Benni:** Let's put it this way.

 **Benni:** If a new player came to Schalke, and told me that if they could be at another club, it would be Dortmund?

 **Benni:** They wouldn't be a Schalke player anymore.

 **Benni:** They'd be six feet under.

 **Marco:**  and vice versa with me

 **Marco:** you really are the fucking worst hummels

 **Mats:** omf 

 **Mats:** why are they so overdefensive about this

 **Mats:** you guys won literally the next year and chelsea are in europa now surely old wounds heal

 **Basti:** oh, yeah? 

 **Basti:** OLD WOUNDS HEAL, DO THEY???

 **Basti:** I DON'T THINK I'VE EVER CRIED HARDER IN MY LIFE

 **Basti:** THAT EXPERIENCE SCARRED ME

 **Basti:** MISSING THAT FUCKING PENALTY

 **Basti:** YOU NEVER RECOVER FROM THAT WE WERE AT  **HOME**

 **Mats:** you won against your biggest rival in germany the next year

 **Mats:** versus me i might add

 **Marco:** i hate that that's true.

 **Manu:** Listen, Hummels.

 **Mats:** oh god don't kill me i'm sorry

 **Manu:** Look at things from my perspective.

 **Manu:** Saved that penalty, scored one

 **Manu:** Thought, maybe I can get my team through this, show why Bayern bought me

 **Benni:** Hahaha die Manuel Neuer.

 **Manu:** AT HOME.

 **Manu:** EVERYONE thought we had it.

 **Manu:** And then, Didier Drogba bamboozled me. TWICE.

 **Manu:** 4-3

 **Manu:** DO YOU KNOW WHAT THOSE TWO NUMBERS IN SUCCESSION MEAN TO ME 

 **Manu:** I WON'T BE CELEBRATING MY 43RD BIRTHDAY

 **Manu:** I'LL JUST CRY ON THAT DAY

 **Manu:** SO YOU TRY AND ACT LIKE IT DOESN'T MATTER, YOU DO THAT.

 **Mats:** ok manu i believe u i'll never ever say a positive word about chelsea again 

 **Mats:** i don't eve nlike chelsea 

 **Mats:** u know what club i'd go to instead?

 **Mats:** i'd

 **Mats:** i'd go to barcelona

 **Jerome:** W 

 **Jerome:** H

 **Jerome:** A

 **Jerome:** T

 **Jerome:**?

**Toni:**

**Toni:** Feelsgoodman

 **Mats:** i didn't even thi- jerome-

 **Basti:** watch your back, mats.

 **Basti:** you just wait and see what happens in training.

 **Marco:** video it jeri x

 **Jerome:** you got it x

 **Mats:** guys i'm-

 **Mats:** oh my g o d

 **Mats:** YOU HAD A 7-0 AGGREGRATE VS THEM IN 2013??? THAT DOESN'T SAVE ME???

**Mats:**

**Jerome:** the memes about the 'slip' haven't died to this day.

 **Jerome:** NOTHING will save you.

***

When Mario called Miro that afternoon, he had not been expecting the man to instantly pick up. Not because Miro wasn't a loyal friend or anything, but because it usually took him about five minutes to figure out his phone was ringing and then struggle to call back.

"Hello there, Mario!" Miro said, as Mario did a double-take as his fellow striker's face appeared immediately on his screen. "I was wondering when you were going to call!"

Mario blinked. "Whoa. Hey, Miro! This must be a world record. You finally figured out how to answer a phone call without resorting to using a detailed manual, eh?"

"Actually, I was using my phone before you called," Miro said cheerily. "I know I'm incompetent with technology, but even I can manage a simple swipe right." 

"Congratulations! Now you can surpass the barrier of learning how to recognise your phone is ringing when it isn't right in your hand." 

Miro made a face. "Oh yes, and do you want me to lift up the sky as well? I'm only human, Gomez."

Mario laughed. "That's what you like to have us believe."

"I can make you believe in anything," Miro said with a wink.

Breathing? What was breathing? Mario sure didn't know. Miro didn't notice his friend's heart leaping out of his throat and landing on the floor, flopping weakly like a fish- at that exact moment he had noticed paint chipping on one of his walls instead, and he had been too busy thinking that  _that_ would end up looking like an eyesore if he didn't deal with it.

When Mario recovered, he had to rummage in his brain to try and formulate a coherent sentence. It took him some effort.

"Uhm- what- what are you up to?" he asked eloquently. Miro looked blown away by his suave approach to conversation. "Are your kids in the house?"

"Oh, no," Miro said. "Sylwia took them to training, and they're staying with her for a few days. So it's just me here. I must say, I forgot what it's like to be by myself. No teammates, no arguing kids, just my own company..."

"Oh, I'll just hang up, then, I must be ruining the experience for you," Mario joked, his throat still dry. Miro waved an airy hand.

"Nein, nein. I was actually going to say it's been ridiculously boring. So I'm happy you called.  I'm  _always_ happy when you call," he said with a bright smile. "It's been a little while, hasn't it? A couple of days."

Mario hesitated. "That's right. I'm sorry, Miro, I've been caught up in things. We had our match the other day- a thrilling 3-1 loss versus  _Schalke-_ and then I had some, um, business to attend to, some sponsorship stuff. So I didn't get much of a chance to call." 

_There might have been a few other reasons. I didn't want to fucking die, that was one of them._

"It's alright, Mario, really," Miro said kindly. "I know you're very busy, I've been up to my ears too. The Derby di Roma is no joke."

"Oh,  _shit,_ yeah!" Mario said in horror. He had completely  _forgotten._ "Oh, man, Miro, I'm so sorry, I didn't get to check on that game.  What was the final score?"

"It's okay," Miro said. "It was a draw- 2-2. I'm not going to name any names, but  _someone_ managed to net the equaliser that got us a point."

"Really?" Mario said, in tones of mock confusion. "Who might that have been? I can't think of a single striker good enough to pull off a feat like  _that._ "

"Oh, he's quite well known," Miro said gently. "He's scored a great deal for his country. He's often regarded as one of the greatest German players in history.

"Oh, yeah!" Mario said, pretending to catch on, tapping his nose. "But Gerd Müller's a bit past his prime, isn't he? Now, I'm not saying I couldn't score at seventy three years old, but an equalising goal in a Rome derby seems a little far-fetched."

Miro's unimpressed expression had Mario giggling. 

"Don't get salty, old man. I wasn't far off, eh? You _play_ like you're seventy three," Mario laughed, and then he laughed some more as Miro's eyes raised to the heavens. "Don't kill me."

"Oh, I won't kill you," Miro promised him. "I'll just stop scoring. You see where that gets Germany."

"That  _is_ a very good threat," Mario conceded. "Maybe I should stop taking the piss. What was that stat again, the one about you and Germany? We've never lost a game that you've scored in?"

"Damn right. Whenever I scored, we always had a good night, afterwards," Miro said proudly, pounding his chest in a very un-like Miro fashion. 

"Impressive!" Mario said slyly, knowing that smug expression was going to disappear in a moment. "I sure wish you had scored in those World Cup semi-finals, though. It was what- three eliminations in a row before you finally won that thing?"

Miro's mouth fell open. 

"Below the  _belt,_ " he said in agonised tones. "I broke the World Cup goalscoring record, but you just had to sully my achievements with your painful words, didn't you? My years of service to Germany thrown into disrespute, by one ungrateful child."

Mario fell about laughing as Miro imitated Marco's haughty tone, whenever someone criticised him.

"I'm so sorry, Miro," he snorted. "I have to get my kicks in somewhere, you know?"

"Why?" Miro said in a mockingly sulky voice. 

"Because you're perfect!" Mario said. "There's nothing  _really_ cutting I can say against you. But you have a wealth of material to use against me. So I think I should be allowed to roast you when the opportunity comes about."

He didn't quite know why Miro looked so surprised. Everyone  _always_ called Miro perfect, he had no business being so humble when people never said a bad word against him. What Mario would have given to have the same level of hero-worship! His career had looked to be going the same way.

"Thank you, Mario," Miro said shyly. Mario blinked. "I would say I'm  _far_ from perfect, though. People in our team look at me and act as if I'm some sort of god, but really, all I do is stick my foot out and score some goals. I don't even score that impressively."

"It's not just the goals," Mario said softly. "Sure, people love a good record-breaker, and they love someone who prolifically nets for their country. Who wouldn't? But you're more than your statistics, Miro. We all love you because you're so kind, you're so wise, you're so funny... And you've given all of us so much..."

He trailed off, his words sticking in his throat. Miro was smiling at him through the screen.

"That was quite an abrupt change, wasn't it?" he said in amusement. "One moment you're eviscerating me, the next you're being lovely. A true German. Thank you so much, Mario. You're too kind. You too are a very special person. I don't deserve you, I really don't."

Mario's breath caught, and he was staring hard at Miro.

_Tears were falling hard and fast, but he didn't understand, he couldn't see why-_

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, after a few moments of silence where he struggled to breathe again. "If anything, it's the other way around. You're the sun and I'm just a relegation-inbound bin bag."

"Nonsense," Miro said firmly. "You're a relegation-inbound  _angel._ "

"Miro!"

"Oh Mario, my Mario, I just can't lie to you, I'd feel terrible about it," Miro said with a light laugh. "No, I'm only joking. You're the biggest fighter I know. You went through hard spots and refused to let them swallow you up. Relegation just isn't for you. Besides, Stuttgart are always notorious for returning to midtable during the second half of the season."

Miro might as well have been mouthing his words for all Mario heard him. Even as Miro moved onto another topic, his mind was stuck on one thing and one thing only- and by God, how he just wanted it to go away.

*** 

It was in the dying minutes of their match against Leipzig that everything went wrong. Dortmund had their one-nil lead, scored by Marco, and it looked like they were going to end up with the three points with no further issue. The nervy ninety minutes were drawing to a close, and all the players wanted to do was just get off the pitch so they could move up the table. The match had been tiring, frustrating, and riddled with missed chances and close calls.

Marco hadn't been exactly pushing himself in the last few minutes. He was sure the game had been put to bed, and so he had slowed down to a jog, watching his teammates pass to each other as they worked down the tempo and set their objectives on just retaining possession and protecting their lead. There was no point needlessly tiring himself, especially when other fixtures were coming up and the international break was drawing near. 

But just as Mario took the ball, something happened that caused Marco's blood to roar, and all thoughts of preserving energy shattered along with his temper. Suddenly, he was running forwards, bellowing at the top of his voice, as the match exploded. 

"Marco!" It was Timo, holding onto his arm, trying to calm him down. "Cool it, there's no need to-"

"Get the fuck off me!" Marco shoved Timo aside as he ran towards where Mario was lying on the floor, clutching his shin. "ILSANKER!"

The player who had just inflicted the reckless challenge on Mario lowered his arms- he had thrown them up as soon as his studs had hit its mark, trying to plead innocence straight away. He turned right towards Marco, who was barging onto him with his mind blank with rage- and  _leered._

"Marco, stop!" Lukasz shouted, but Marco paid him absolutely no attention. He shoved Ilsanker right down, about to teach him a fucking  _lesson-_

The referee's whistle was blowing madly and he was sprinting towards them as the Leipzig players crowded around their own player, trying to protect him, and the Dortmund players grabbed onto Marco and tried to pull him back. The red cards were already out and yet it made no difference, Marco was  _not_ planning on leaving the pitch without getting a fist in Ilsanker's teeth. Mario had managed to get to his feet, the potentially leg-breaking challenge having fortunately not dealt its full impact, and made his way towards Marco. 

"Look, he's fine!" Ilsanker yelled, pointing at Mario. "Your little boyfriend hasn't hurt himself, he's not a fragile little flower like  _you,_  injured by a single fucking touch-"

"OFF!" the referee shouted, brandishing his card at the both of them. "OFF THE PITCH, NOW!" 

The other players were trying to protest that Marco had been defending Mario, and that Ilsanker should have been the only one punished, but the referee was in one mind and one mind only. It looked like  _more_ cards were about to be unleashed.

"Marco, please, calm down, I'm fine!" Mario said, managing to push Marco backwards. "Just leave the pitch, you're going to make things worse for yourself!"

"You wait!" Marco shouted at Ilsanker. "You fucking wait, du Stück Scheiße! Du Scheißkerl!"

He shoved Lukasz and Neven off of him, ignored Mario's pleading for him to remain calm, and stormed off the pitch, right past Favre, who had his face in his hands, and through the tunnel. The fans' screaming were echoing in his ears, but they meant nothing to him. He was seeing _red._ He hadn't felt so angry in a  _long_ time.

"  _Scheiße! Verdammter Fotze!_ " he bellowed, grabbing hold of his shirt in his kit bag and whipping it against the wall again, and again, and again.

Several minutes later, the team began trickling into the locker room, Mario in the lead, looking close to tears, with Neven and Lukasz behind him, looking somewhat like bodyguards.

"Marco!" he said, as Marco sank down onto the bench, breathing heavily, exhausted- though his anger had not disappeared yet. " _Why_ did you  _do_ that? Oh, my God!"

"Er ist ein verdammter Fotze, Mario, er hat versucht dich zu verletzen!" Marco shouted at Mario, his voice so loud that his boyfriend jumped and flinched. "Was hätte ich machen sollen?"

"You should have tried to stay calm, I was fine!" Mario said, almost hysterical. 

"He nearly took your leg out, Mario!" Marco yelled at him. "He was doing it on purpose! He knew we were going to win so he tried to knock you out of commission!"

"And instead he managed to knock  _you_ out of commission!" Mario pulled at his hair. "You just made things so much worse for yourself! Now you've got the press on your back! When you leave here they'll be all over you like flies on a corpse!"

Lukasz tried to step in. "Everyone saw how bad Ilsanker's tackle was, they'll understand why Marco lost his temper-"

"That's not the point!" Mario yelled at him. "The point is, Marco got himself a red card for no goddamn reason, and we  _need_ him!"

"It's fine!" Neven said firmly. "I know what he did was stupid and reckless, but he's human, and he loves you, he couldn't control his response. He'll be missing out on one game, we'll live, okay? He knows that he won't do something like that again, try and understand his point of view."

"Ich würde es wieder tun!" Marco spat at Neven, who sighed deeply. Mario covered his face with his hands in despair. "I don't know why you're looking at me like that, Mario, you've done the same for me! And did you hear what he said? That you're not a  _delicate flower, getting injured at a touch?_ Did you  _hear_ it? I'm going to fucking rip him to pieces! He deserves it!"

Mario shook his head vigorously. "No you're  _not!_ Marco, ich liebe dich, and I know you were trying to protect me, but you can't let your anger get the better of you like that! It just causes unneccessary consequences! I wasn't hurt, so all of that was for  _nothing!_ "

"Even if you weren't hurt, the intention was there! I've faced tackles like that that registered, and they've nearly ended my fucking career! Imagine if that had happened to you today! I don't give a good god damn if they  _ban_ me from football, if someone risks your health, I'll beat the shit out of them! I don't care what happens to me as long as you're safe!" 

Mario fell silent. The atmosphere in the locker room was  _intensely_ awkward. Favre hadn't even arrived to rip into Marco for his red card yet, so there was just a rigid quiet, one so thick that it actually felt suffocating. He didn't break eye contact with Mario, though, he kept glaring fiercely at his boyfriend, so much so that he had to look away first. Marco thought that Mario was going to keep trying to express his disapproval, and he was ready to fight, but Mario instead did something entirely unexpected. He came up to Marco and kissed him.

When Mario drew away, Marco stared up at him, utterly nonplussed, his anger taking a momentary pause. 

"What... what was that about?" he said, touching his lips. 

Mario just shook his head. "I can't stop you, Marco. I know you reacted like that because you care about me. And I love you so much for it. But you've got to use your head instead of your heart in situations like this. He was going to get a red card anyway, but you gave him what he wanted by getting one too!"

"How many times do I have to say it, I don't care-"

"You should! I'm not worth this, Marco! I'm not worth you getting yourself into trouble and inconveniencing yourself like this!" Mario said frustratedly. "You've always let anything that happened to me affect you so badly, but I'm not worth all of that trouble! _I'm not worth it!_ "

Marco stared at Mario in shock. The midfielder looked at him right back, determined not to cry. Emotions were running high and the feeling that had swelled up in him was hard to push down.

"What the  _fuck_ did you just say to me?" Marco said in a quiet voice. "What did you just say to me, Mario Götze?"

"I said,  _I'm not worth it."_ Mario was unmoved by Marco's astonishment. "It's the truth! Don't look at me like that, you know it is!"

"Du verdammter Idiot," Marco whispered. "Du verdammter Idiot!  _You're not worth it?_ What fucking rubbish is that? If you weren't worth it I wouldn't have blinked twice at what happened!"

He seized Mario in a hug, squeezing him as tightly as he could.

"Don't you  _ever_ say that again! You're worth my entire world and more! All you've ever been is important to me! You'll never not be important to me, no matter what happens! After all we've been through, you say some stupid bullshit like that? I don't believe it!"

"Marco, I-" Mario tried to say, his face pressed against Marco's chest.

"Don't say anything!" Marco said fiercely. "Don't try and defend what you said, because it's wrong! I would leave football all together for you! I'd give up everything for you in a heartbeat! I'd never leave your side throughout anything! If someone pushes you down, you'd better damn believe I'd fight them and get that red card proudly! If someone says something against you, you'd better damn well believe I'd scream at them until my throat tears! That's just what you mean to me! So don't you ever,  _ever_ say something like that again, Mario Götze! You're worth  _everything_ to me, you damn fool- and don't you ever forget it!"

***

Mats and Benni were curled up on their sofa as they watched the Dortmund match- Benni wanting to evaluate every one of Dortmund's flaws and witness any moment of weakness from them, Mats just content to watch a decent match. Leipzig was always an entertaining opponent to face off with, whether it be for drama value or for good football value- and in the case of this match, it was most definitely the former.

Benni's eyebrows had inched so high up his face they had disappeared into his hair as they watched the whole red card disaster play out again on the screen. There was Marco, absolutely livid as he stalked over to where Mario was lying, shoving Ilsanker down. And then there was the referee brandishing the red card. And Marco was storming off the pitch, every molecule of his face burning with rage. 

"Goddamn." Mats gave a low whistle. "I think that Ilsanker totally deserved that.  _Dreckige Fotze._ He could have snapped Mario's leg." 

Benni nodded slowly. "I agree. For once, I don't think Marco should have gotten punished. That was his boyfriend getting mowed down, of course he was going to lose his head."

"The referee doesn't know that, though," Mats said fairly. "But I still think he should've taken into account that Mario is his teammate and his friend. Anyone would get angry and react like that."

"Yeah. And Marco's response was more subdued than I expected. Someone trying to hurt Mario... I would've expected him to completely lose control," Benni said pensively.

"Give him a bit of credit," Mats said, and then he shuddered. "Oh, wow. I can't believe I just said that. But seriously. He was being held back by about the whole team. I'm sure if he had been given the chance Ilsanker would  _not_ still be wearing his smug grin, the cocky bastard."

Benni conceded. "Yeah. The whole team should've jumped on him for that."

"We would have," Mats said wistfully. "Once Thomas got fouled badly, oh, my  _Lord,_ that was a mistake from the defender. Manu's anger wasn't even directed at me and I was absolutely  _terrified._ Thought he was going to tear the guy apart."

"I remember that happening during a friendly, too," Benni said thoughtfully. "A quantifiable error from that defender. He won't be doing something like _that_ again. And it's not just Manu. Dear Lord, when Basti gets injured on the pitch, Lukas loses his fucking head too. Remember the blood during the 2014 final? What he was yelling during extra time?"

"Poldi really can be scary for how goofy he acts," Mats agreed, thinking upon all the times the team had  _just_ overstepped their limits. Even Fips was wary during those times.

"And, oh, God," Benni said, struck by reminiscience. "Remember when we were facing off you guys, and Prince had that bad challenge on Jerome? Lewandowski went insane. He was so lucky not to get a red card."

" _Yikes,_ " Mats said. "That was... intense. It was worse afterwards. Jerome was literally in tears trying to stop Robert going after his brother. Wow, they really don't like each other, do they? I feel like an idiot for what I said earlier, now. Robert was glaring at me so hard. But I didn't _mean_ to make things uncomfortable."

"It's alright, baby. How were you supposed to know about all that baggage? You were just being a friend to Jerome, trying to find out if he was doing okay with his brother. I doubt he's blaming you for anything," Benni assured him. "And Lewandowski is one of those highly protective gays. They're a dangerous force. Difficult to stop when they're in motion."

"They're all protective gays," Mats said, leaning his head on Benni's shoulder. "They seem like goofy fuckers, but touch their boyfriend and they'll kick the shit out of you."

Benni thought about all the gays on the team, and thought that this was an apt conclusion.

"Touch Jonas, too," he added, and when Mats looked alarmed, he elaborated. "They'd tear you apart if you hurt him."

"Oh, God, how could I forget," Mats chuckled. "They'd die for Jonas, let alone let him face a bad challenge. Joshua, Leon, the Julians, Niklas... He's got his own little bodyguard, and he doesn't even know it."

Benni grinned. He was quite sure in the heat of the moment, he'd bodily destroy anyone who laid a malicious finger on Jonas himself. He had a distinct fondness for the sweet left-back, who he had played many matches with. 

"Hey, Benni?" Mats said, snuggling up a little more to Benni, who looped his arm around his boyfriend's shoulders. 

"Hmmm?"

"Would you fight someone for me?" Mats asked. Benni smiled at the question. "I mean, I know we're both defenders, so we don't really get into foul situations that often- but if some did make a shit challenge on me, would you beat them up for me?"

Benni put his hand to his chin, pretending to think.

"Hmm... depends on how I feel about you at the time," he joked. "If you've done something beforehand, I might let them get a couple of hits in, for the sake of justice."

"Benedikt!"

"I'm joking, you degenerate, don't start crying," Benni laughed, kissing Mats' forehead. "Of course I'd fight them. I'd do a great many things for you."

"Really?" Mats asked, as if that was not the answer he had been expecting (though he had definitely been hoping for it all the same). "I thought  _you_ were the rational one in our relationship, eh? You're saying you'd actually fight someone for me?"

"Of course," Benni said calmly. "You tend to lose all rationality when something happens to the one you love. I definitely wouldn't be able to control myself if someone actually hurt you. I'd let them know exactly how I felt about it... and it would not be pretty. People would definitely stop calling me Benni the softie."

Mats was overly touched by this. "Wow. I'm gonna cry.  _Benni_ would fight someone for me."

"Why are you acting so surprised?" Benni said, nudging him. "D'you think I'd just leave you there? Would you not do the same for me?"

"Oh, no, I would!" Mats hurried to assure him. "I'm just... I don't know. You're like a knitted scarf. Cosy and warm. I didn't think you'd throw hands over me."

"A  _knitted scarf?_ " Benni said in disbelief. Mats hurried to amend himself.

"What I meant to say is, you're an incredibly cool and tough defender who strikes fear into the hearts of everyone," he said very hastily, so Benni looked mollified. "I'm only kidding, Benni, I know you'd cause some real damage. And I would too. Nobody but me is allowed to roast you, and nobody at  _all_ is allowed to hurt you. I love you."

"I love you too," Benni said with a grin, and then he said, more grudgingly. "But I don't hear you defending me when the Schalke roasts come in from others."

"Ah, Bene, Bene," Mats sighed, squeezing Benni's cheeks. "Who am I to suppress the truth? I'm not a  _dictator._ "

Benni pushed Mats off the sofa.

***

_There was a man who was falling from a fifty story building._

"Manu?" Thomas mumbled, shifting in his boyfriend's arms as he blinked himself awake. "Are you awake?"

Manu beamed down at Thomas- and for once, it was for real. He was feeling inordinately overjoyed. 

"Yep," he said cheerfully. "And guess what- I slept through the night! No dreams!"

_As he fell, he repeated one thing to reassure himself, over and over again._

Thomas looked delighted. "Schatz! That's two nights, now, wow! That's amazing- I'm so happy for you!"

"It's not exactly the biggest of achievements, but I'll take it," Manu said happily, as Thomas kissed him. "Two nights of decent sleep. I finally have the energy to yell again. Do you think that things are finally getting back on track?"

_So far so good, so far so good, so far so good._

Despite himself,  _he_ was the one sounding overly hopeful this time. Thomas, on the other hand, was smiling, but he also looked a little strained.

"Two nights is amazing, baby, but... you shouldn't be disappointed if something happens again," he said gently. "Setbacks happen. That's why you're going to call the therapist, right? So you can make it less likely for those setbacks to happen. Or to learn to deal with them."

Manu considered this, trying not to make his face fall. But Thomas's words also brightened his spirits. "You're right. For now, though, I'm just going to be fucking happy that something good has happened. I'm well-rested!"

"You are!" Thomas said excitedly. "Let's put some of that energy to good use, eh?"

He flung his arms around Manu's neck, and the two of them kissed, and it was  _wonderful._ Manu couldn't stop grinning against Thomas's mouth, as the two of them finally got to enjoy the feeling of each other with only a vague feeling of bliss between them. It was going to be a good day.

_But it isn't the fall that matters. It's the landing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh so the ilsanker red card thing, that actually happened in OUR match against leipzig with renato sanches, but i thought i'd twist things and make it dortmund so i could add a healthy bit of angry drama and include more gotzeus into the fray :P i must say i fucking hate rb leipzig with a passion, corporate, dreckig Mannschaft >:( i get fucking out of my mind crazy with anger when someone deliberately injures my teammates.
> 
> ummm the last bit, idk if taht worked. probbbly not. :(
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed!!! oh man, we're nearing the international break, i SWEAR it to you, these idiots will interact again :P and i promise steno will interact with the london fools.
> 
> love you all! <333


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus jeder! this is the chap that you have been waiting for :) and... ive probably not done it tha well but u know what thats a running theme with me!
> 
> there is A N G S T also

_Private chat between Bernd Leno and Mesut Ozil_

**Bernd:** it's time

 **Bernd:** get ur shit together

 **Bernd:** find lukas (i know u told lukas don't try to deny it u big coconut head)

 **Bernd:** it is time to Talk. 

He hadn't been sure how long it would take him to get a response, but he was surprised to see Mesut respond not twenty minutes later.

 **Mesut:** YOU MOTHERFUCKER TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH

 **Mesut:** WE'RE READY WE'RE READY WE'RE READY OH MY GODODOD

 **Mesut:** I WANTED TO CALL OLI BUT HE ISN'T AROUND :(((

 **Bernd:** marc-andre doesnt know him anyway so it probably better to make it just german and ull probably explain to him urself anyway

 **Bernd:** and ull probably tell sami everything i say anyway so why dont we add him to the call too

 **Mesut:** HE'S PLAYING RIGHT NOW :((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((

 **Mesut:** SO HE CAN'T :((((((

 _Lady Luck probably intervened, then,_ Bernd thought to himself.  _Sami and Oli, in a call together? It was probably for the best that they both weren't around._

Marc-Andre was sitting opposite Bernd on his kitchen table, staring down at his own phone with a frown on his face. Bernd looked up at him, sighing. It was about to be time for possibly the most shambolic explanation of an event there had ever been. The two of them had been trying to plan out the perfect way to tell their annoying, interfering friends about all of this for around an hour, but they just hadn't found the words to explain it all. Eventually, Bernd had thrown his hands up and said- "God- let's just do what I did, and wing it!"

"They're ready to call," Bernd said, gesturing at his phone, which was flashing multiple times as Mesut continuously harassed him, telling him to hurry up and call. "Verdammt verrückt. Are  _you_ ready to talk to them?"

"I'm about as ready as I ever will be, which is to say, not at all. But what can I do?" Marc-Andre said, shrugging. 

"Honestly? We've faced worse," Bernd sighed. "Hurry up, ter Stegen, I want to get this out of the way quickly. Honestly, I'd rather have lice crawl over my body and eat my flesh in a slow, painful death than do this." 

"But such is our luck, we have to deal with these fools instead," Marc-Andre said in a self-pitying tone. "Hold on. Let me text Leroy."

_Private chat between Marc-Andre ter Stegen and Leroy Sane_

**Marc-Andre:** Hello

 **Marc-Andre:** Before you go off at me for not replying to you for the past few days

 **Marc-Andre:** We're about to explain it all now so join a call with us and the london idiots

 **Leroy:** U M ? !

 **Leroy:** WHO IS W E ? AND U S ?

 **Marc-Andre:** Who do you think

 **Marc-Andre:** Oh wait you weren't being serious.

 **Marc-Andre:** Bernd's gonna call you

 **Leroy:** I-?!?!??!!? WHAT IS THIS?????????/

"I think he's on board," Marc-Andre said, looking down at his phone. "Go on, then, Leno. Go and add the goonies to the call."

With trepidation in his heart, Bernd went through his list of contacts. He added Mesut, then Leroy. 

"They're together, right?" Marc-Andre said suddenly, as Bernd went to hit the call button. "Mesut and Lukas? What if they aren't?"

"They're together, I told Mesut to get Lukas. He did it damn quickly, too. They've been waiting a long time," Bernd reassured him. His finger went to press the call button once more, but Marc-Andre grabbed his hand.

"Maybe- maybe you should check again,"  Marc-Andre said nervously. "Before we jump into the call, we don't want any inconv-"

"You're trying to stall, aren't you?" Bernd said suspiciously, squinting at Marc-Andre, who tried valiantly to melt. "No more running, Marc-Andre. All we've gotta do is tell them. Who knows, maybe all we'll have to say is,  _we fucked,_ and they'll do the rest of the talking for us."

"Oh, God, don't open the call with that.  _Please_ don't," Marc-Andre said in abject horror. "Start it off nicely, like,  _we had a nice conversation and worked out our differences._ "

"Don't worry, sweet," Bernd said soothingly. Marc-Andre did a double take. "I've got you.  _We've_ got  _this._ "

He pressed the call button. His screen flashed, showing that it was calling, and jarringly, the two recipients of the call picked up at once.

Marc-Andre and Bernd jumped as there was an instant explosion of yelling.

" _YOU SON OF A BITCH, MARC-ANDRE, I WAS SO WORRIED!_ " Leroy yelled, pointing accusingly into his camera.

" _WE WERE AGONISING OVER YOU!"_  Mesut and Lukas bellowed in unison. 

The two goalkeepers looked at each other with expressions that were exactly the same.

_We're fucked._

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DIDN'T TELL ME!" Lukas hollered. "ME! I WAS THE ONE WHO TOLD YOU TO GRAB ALL THESE CHANCES AND YOU LEFT IT TO MESUT TO INFORM ME YOU WENT TO BARCELONA TO CONFESS YOUR LOVE!"

"I-" Bernd began eloquently.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WENT TO CONFESS YOUR LOVE!" Leroy yelled at Bernd, a little unfairly. "I THOUGHT I HAD KILLED MARC-ANDRE BECAUSE I TOLD HIM TO ROAST YOU! AND YOU, TER STEGEN! NOT A SINGLE SOLITARY TEXT OF INFORMATION ABOUT WHAT WAS HAPPENING, I WAS GUILT-STRICKEN! I THOUGHT I WAS A MURDERER!"

"I'VE BEEN WANTING TO MAKE FUN OF YOU FOR TWO DAYS STRAIGHT!" Mesut joined in the shouting. "YOU NEGLECTED YOUR BEST FRIEND! SAMI AND I HAVE BEEN WORRYING THAT NOTHING ROMANTIC HAPPENED!" 

"Guys-" Marc-Andre tried, but he too, was shouted down.

"YOU'D BETTER DAMN WELL TELL US EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED! EVERY SINGLE DETAIL! WELL, NO, NOT THE BORING SHIT, BUT THE STUFF RELATING TO YOU TWO! THE GOOD SHIT!" Leroy threatened them. 

There was finally silence, both the Arsenal players and Leroy glaring at the two keepers fiercely. Bernd and Marc-Andre looked at each other again, both of them swallowing.

 _You go first,_ Bernd seemed to say, gesturing his head at the phone screen split into thirds. They both looked like gawky fools in the camera.

 _No, you,_ Marc-Andre communicated back, jerking his head a little more forcefully.

They had a mental sparring match for a moment, and then the yelling started again. 

"YOU TWO-!" 

"Okay, okay, okay!" Bernd said frantically, waving his arms about to shut them up. "You psychopaths! We were literally  _just_ about to tell you everything!"

They hadn't been. 

"HURRY UP!" Mesut bellowed. "WE'VE BEEN WAITING TOO DAMN LONG FOR THIS!"

"Alright, alright!" Bernd said hastily. "Ok, so... what happened is..."

He looked around Marc-Andre's kitchen, trying to find the right words in his vocabulary to formulate a good explanation of what had happened. Only two were floating around his mind. Under the pressure of four glares- Marc-Andre having quite unfairly joined in pushing Bernd to say something- he blurted out:

"We fucked!"

Marc-Andre stood up from his chair and went to sit under the table. 

Leroy let out a scream of shock.

Mesut let out a scream of laughter.

Lukas's mouth had fallen open, but no sound came out. 

"I- obviously- there was more to it than that!" Bernd said desperately, as Marc-Andre did not return from his spot under the table. "That was sort of, the end result of it all, but there was other stuff, like, we had a nice conversation and solved all our differences-"

"It wasn't the conversation that did that!" Mesut howled with laughter. "Ich kann nicht, ich kann nicht, hilf mir, oh, Gott, das ist zu viel!"

"YOU DID WHAT?" Leroy yelled, a few paces behind the conversation because of his abject shock. "YOU- YOU- DONE DID THE DEED?"

Mesut disappeared from the camera too, but Bernd could hear him crying with laughter in the background. 

"TER STEGEN!" Leroy shouted. "Come out from under that table right now!"

"Ne," Marc-Andre's muffled voice came from his sanctuary.

"If you don't damn well get your ass back in your seat right now, you'd best believe this international break is going to be a crisis for you!" Leroy stormed. 

Silence. And then Marc-Andre's head popped out from under the table, and he climbed back onto his seat.

 _Sorry,_ Bernd mouthed. 

"I  _cannot_ believe it," Lukas finally spoke up. "I mean, I can, because we knew that you liked each other all this time. What I can't believe is that something actually  _came_ out of this shit."

"Something  _came_ indeed," Mesut said, between tightly pursed lips, but his shrill giggle escaped his mouth anyway, and he dissolved once more.

Marc-Andre went to go back down under the table, but Bernd managed to stop him in time. The Barcelona goalkeeper decided to hide his bright red face in his arms instead.

"So, that's how it be?" Leroy demanded. "You two are just  _together,_ now? Just like that? No ifs, ands or buts about it?"

Bernd blinked. This was a fairly disgusting question that encompassed too many aspects of this whole situation that Bernd had tried to ignore. Marc-Andre lifted his face from his arms and slowly turned to look at Bernd, who looked at him helplessly back.  _Jesus,_ this was a disaster. All these years of fighting, and one day was suddenly enough? No, it was more than a day. They had been stewing in their feelings for a long time. They had just-

"Yes," Marc-Andre said, cutting through the thick silence. Bernd blinked even more. "W-We are. I guess. I think. I hope."

He said those last two words very quietly, so only Bernd heard it. 

Fuck it. What was rationality?

"We are," Bernd said firmly. 

Mesut started laughing again. "The fucking state!"

Oh, how  _close_ Bernd was to snapping and mentioning Sami! The levels of audacity were mounting so high that even Leroy was side-eyeing Mesut, who didn't notice, happily oblivious and happy to be an hypocritical bastard.

"There are so many  _questions,_ " Lukas said in awe. "Not really about how this happened, but what's going to happen  _next._ I mean, you are fucking aware that once the team finds out about this, your lives are basically over?"

"Well," Bernd said quickly. "It depends on who gets called up for the international break too, you know. If- If I don't get called up, then it'll be easier to hide this shit, because we won't be together."

Marc-Andre looked at Bernd but Bernd refused to look at him back this time.

"And what if you  _do_ get called up?" Lukas insisted. "How are you going to hide it then?"

"Well, we were sort of hoping that you guys could help us with that," Marc-Andre said hastily. 

Confused looks were exchanged, and then Mesut gasped.

"Keine Chance!" he said in horror. "We covered for you two  _once,_ and that was only because we weren't sure what was going on yet! You can't possibly think we'd be able to- that we'd  _want_ to- keep this a secret for you guys?"

"It's friendship, Mesut!" Bernd said crossly. "We'd do the same for you!"

"You wouldn't need to, because I wouldn't be a fucking buffoon about it if  _I_ was in love-"

"Du verdammter-" Bernd began furiously.

" _Oh my God. Oh my God,_ " Marc-Andre said suddenly, covering his face with his hands. Bernd hurried to try and calm him, cutting off the scorching roast he had just been about to deliver. 

"All we need you to do is keep this secret under wraps for a little bit!" he pleaded. "Just so we can- I don't know- find a good way to break the news! If you go off and start spouting your mouths it'll just make life hard for us!" 

" _I'll_ do it," Lukas said firmly. Mesut looked even more horrified. "But you guys... this is _crazy."_

"You were the one who told us to go for this!" Bernd said indignantly. "Why are you telling me it's crazy  _now?_ "

"I wasn't- I- you misunderstood- you know what, never mind," Lukas said quickly. "It's no point saying something like that now. Right now, we need to focus on what we're going to do about the fucking Germans."

Bernd was staring at Lukas with a frown of confusion,  but Marc-Andre threw his hands up in exasperation.

"We've already told you want we want you to do!" he said. "You're the ones who are saying you don't want to do it!"

" _I_ never said that, it was just Mesut, and he's a dickhead," Leroy said dismissively. Mesut squawked in indignation. "I've kept your secret all this time, and I'll keep doing it. You've got a friend in me, Marc."

All eyes turned to Mesut. 

"Oh, for the love of God!" Mesut protested. "You two really suck. You should be flaunting your relationship now you've finally broken this fucking barrier, but now you want to do even  _more_ hiding?"

All eyes remained on Mesut, unmoved. 

"Fuck's sake. Fine, fine!" he said irritably. "I'll keep your secret. But it had better not been for long. You are  _depriving_ me of my chance to make fun of you in public. And _fine,_ stop looking at me like that, I'll tell Sami not to tell anyone either." 

"Who knows," Bernd told him. "I might not even get called up, so you wouldn't have the chance to make fun of us in public anyway."

"You've been playing really well, though, you've put in loads of key saves," Lukas said firmly. "Ron-Robert's been a crisis at Stuttgart, I'm sorry, and Ralf hasn't done anything noteworthy either. You've got a better chance of being called up than any of them."

"Yeah, but that's not the point," Bernd said. "We all know why Jogi hasn't called me up much." 

"Why?" Leroy asked, looking genuinely puzzled. Marc-Andre looked confused too. 

Bernd realised that they did not know. 

He sighed, and shook his head. No point going into it now. "Never... never mind. We'll... we'll see what happens. But you guys, no matter if I get called up or not, just keep it zipped for now,  _please._ It won't be for long. It'd be really helpful for us."

"We don't know when we'll say anything," Marc-Andre added. "We... we still need time to work things out. When we have, then we'll make the decision. But for now, please try and control your overly large German mouths."

There was grumbling from Mesut, agreement from Leroy and thoughtful frowning from Lukas. 

Then silence. 

Then:

"Well?" Mesut demanded, looking at them expectantly. "Are you going to fucking tell us  _how_ you ended up fucking?"

Bernd sighed. He should have expected this. Then he looked at Marc-Andre and leaned back in his seat. 

" _You_ explain," he said. "I've done enough of it for a lifetime."

***

It was after training that Fips cornered Basti.

Basti had seen it coming, he really had. It was about as easy to avoid Fips' laser stare as avoiding a hail of bullets. He had felt it on his back all throughout training, as they all bullied Mats to no end for his disgraceful comments on the group chat the other day. The two of them made eye contact a few times, Basti immediately looking away. As the session drew to an end, it was more of a question of  _how_ Fips was going to confront Basti than  _if_ he was going to do it. Basti knew it was inevitable. He knew he was a condemned man.

So as they left the changing rooms, Jerome chasing Mats at top speed to beat him up for a cheeky comment about a certain taboo event with the entire team crowing after them, Basti didn't even flinch as his diminuitive captain laid a hand on his shoulder to stop him from following. He just turned around, sighed, and followed Fips back inside.

"You orchestrated that, didn't you?" Basti grumbled. "You just _had_ to mention Barcelona. You knew Mats would make a comment. And you knew Jerome would lose his shit with Mats."

"Of course," Fips said calmly. "I also knew the rest of the barbarians would be suitably distracted by the prospect of a fight too. You are all completely predictable, base savages."

"You warm my heart, Fips, you're too kind. Let me guess, you're going to pour affection on me now, that's why you held me back, eh?" Basti asked grumpily. "Give me a hug and a kiss and tell me it's all going to be alright?"

"I would quite literally rather get type two diabetes," Fips said gently. "No, I held you back to ask you what's going on with you and Lukas."

Basti didn't even blink, but he tried his hand at denying it anyway. "What makes you th-"

"Bastian. I've dealt with the two of you for more than a decade of my miserable life. And I've dealt with _you_ literally _every day_ of my miserable life. I know exactly when you're thinking and pining about Lukas. You make a certain expression, too." Fips demonstrated, making his face somewhat sad and tired looking. 

"Great acting skills, Fips, I can see why they picked you out for that advert, now." Lashing out was the only thing Basti could think of doing in response to Fips' correct assumptions.

"I-" Fips actually raised his fist to punch Basti, but he managed to contain himself just in time. "- am going to ignore that comment. You fucking reprobate. No, you're not going to distract me, Basti. I want to know what's going on. I've been with you idiots since 2006, and I know when something's upset you. It's been affecting your football. You're quieter than usual."

"My football is fucking  _great._ "

"It is, but you're getting more distracted," Fips said, his tone less acerbic and more gentle. "You zone out. You get more irritable more easily. I can see you're not in the best place, at the moment, Basti, and I want to know why."

"And  _now_ you care?" Basti shot back. "Because you're worried about how it'll affect the team?"

Fips sighed. "No, you fucking idiot. I'm worried about  _you._ "

Basti blinked, and then swallowed. Fips' expression was actually a lot softer than usual. 

And like it or not, Basti knew he couldn't avoid his captain- and one of his oldest friends. Fips was right about his assertion that he always knew when Basti wasn't feeling it. They had known each other for so long at this point, and Basti had fallen down into Fips' arms crying more times than he could count, that Basti was actually surprised that it had taken Fips this long to confront him about it. He supposed his friend had just wanted to give him a bit of privacy.

The only reason Basti hadn't gone to Fips out of his mind with all his doubts and sadness about Lukas was that he had done it  _so much_ by this point, that he feared he was beginning to sound like a broken record. Basti said the same things over and over again, because they never changed. He would've thought that Fips would have started losing the plot if he voiced all these same concerns again.  _I miss Lukas, I'm so lonely, I love him so much and we're so far apart._

 _Cry me a river, Schweinsteiger,_ he had thought angrily to himself, whenever he had thought about going to Fips with his troubles.  _Boo-hoo, your boyfriend is a bit far away. Grow up._

But he had underestimated Fips. Fips was  _always_ there for his teammates and his friends, no matter how exasperated he acted. No problem was too small for him.

"Well-" Basti said, and then he sighed. "Oh, God, Fips. It's nothing new. You know that, right? It's nothing new at all. You know all this already."

"Tell me again," Fips said simply. "You clearly need to." 

"I just miss Lukas!" Basti said aggravatedly. "That's it, that's what it always is! I miss him! So much! What do you want me to say? I'm just on fucking repeat at this point, I'm getting sick of myself and my own crying! I really need to shut the fuck up, not keep  _venting_ and  _venting!_ "

"That's idiotic, Basti," Fips said sharply. "The problem will only get worse and worse if you keep it to yourself, and you'll get even more agitated. Bottling things up is always a terrible way of handling things."

"And talking about them doesn't do anything either!" Basti said loudly, practically shouting at this point, but Fips didn't even flinch. "It literally doesn't do anything but make me more frustrated, because Lukas is still far away from me! My words doesn't make him come to my side, so what's the point of saying them?"

"Because it's better to release some of that pent-up anger through venting, even if it feels meaningless! You need to acknowledge these feelings, Basti! Don't you understand, it would be killing you even more if you were keeping it inside, you know it would! That's why you broke and started telling me about this all in the first place, remember? It was harder for you when you stayed silent about it!"

This was true, but Basti did not want to agree. 

"At this point, Fips," he said aggressively, storming up and down. "I'm getting fucking  _fed up._ " 

"What's that meant to mean?" Fips said warily. "Basti-"

"My dependence on Lukas for my own happiness kind of scares me, Fips!" Basti said, gesturing wildly. "It scares me how much I rely on him to brighten my spirits and make me feel better, and how bad I feel when he isn't around! And because he isn't around so much, it constantly makes me feel bad! I don't remember a night where I haven't cried!"

Fips stared at Basti. He had heard Basti say a great many things about Lukas before, but he had  _never_ heard something like this. 

"What are you saying?" he said slowly. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" 

"Is what you think I'm saying me saying I want to break up with him?" Basti snapped. Fips' eyes widened. "Oh, God, don't look at me like that! Don't! You have no idea what it's like for me! I said this all before to Robert and Jerome when I was drunk, and they thought I wasn't being serious,  _I_ thought I wasn't being serious because I was  _scared_ by the thought of it, because I can't imagine what my life would be like without him, that's how much I depend on him. But the more I think about it fucking sober rather than off my face sobbing in my bathtub, I think, maybe it's what I need!"

"Have you talked to him about this?" Fips demanded, stepping forwards towards Basti, shocked beyond belief at what he was hearing. "Have you told him how you feel?"

Basti looked away. He had been glaring at Fips fiercely throughout this whole tirade, but now he couldn't maintain eye contact for more than a second. 

"Basti?" Fips insisted. "Have you?"

"No!" Basti said, throwing his hands up angrily. "I haven't, okay? But what would it do? Luki would empathise, I know he would, but what can he do? Drop everything in his career and move to München with me? Get me to drop everything? It's impossible, Fips, this whole situation is fucking impossible!" 

"I can't  _believe_ you!" Fips said, actually furious. "After  _all_ these years, you're having these sorts of thoughts, and you don't even think to dignify Lukas with a  _word_ about it? The man who loves you so much, who's loved you throughout anything and everything? You don't even think he deserves a single solitary word of explanation of your feelings about this? You don't even want to hear his?"

Tears, once again, were rising in Basti's eyes. They were  _bitter_ tears. 

"You're not thinking straight, Schweinsteiger! No, you're not even thinking at  _all!_ " Fips shouted. "I understand how you feel. I empathise with you. But do you know why you're feeling like this? Because you haven't seen him for so long, you feel like it'd be easy to cut off ties just like that. Out of sight, out of mind, is that how you think it works? I guarantee you that this would be the worst possible course of action, Basti! When you'd see him during the international break, you'd be broken. When you'd spend time alone, you'd be broken! He would be broken! I can't allow you to make a step like this without even talking to him about it!"

Basti buried his face in his hands, crying hard, now. 

"I'm sorry, Basti," Fips said wearily. "But you know it's the truth. You know what you're thinking is purely reactionary, and based off your loneliness. You know that when you see him again, you'll be faced with more reasons you want to stay with him forever than reasons why you should stay apart." 

Basti's shoulders had begun to shake.

"You need to  _talk_ to him," Fips said more softly. "You need to tell him  _everything._ You need to take into account all these years, all these memories, everything you have to lose. You can't make decisions like this off the bat. As your friend, I won't let you. It would destroy you. It would destroy him. It's not fair and it's not right."

And then he opened his arms, and Basti collapsed into them without a second thought, gasping because he was sobbing so hard. 

"The international break is coming up," Fips whispered, rubbing his hand in circles across Basti's back. "You won't have to wait for much longer. You know you have to talk to him, Basti. You owe it to each other."

Basti just nodded mutely, his eyes pouring with tears. Fips was right. Fips was always right. Basti couldn't handle things like this. This time, he needed to listen. He needed to talk to his Luki. He couldn't, and wouldn't, handle this alone anymore.

 ***

The dichotomy between a player's personality on a pitch versus what they were like off of it offered a feast of speculations for those who watched football. There were the swaggering greats who scored and scored and took that confidence off of the pitch and shone it like a beacon everywhere they went, showing people how self-assured they were so they were seen as  _charismatic_ _._ Then there were the warriors with their card-happy antics who, on the pitch, drew blood and bruises, and off it donated to multiple different charities and went to children's hospitals to give out signed shirts. Then there were those who seemed to float across the pitch, fire burning in their blood as they put everything they had into those ninety minutes, seemingly unstoppable- but off the pitch, they shrank and shrank until they were as distinguishable as a wisp of cloud. 

Jonas was one of those people. 

During the 2016 Euros quarter-final against Italy, at the end of the shitshow that had been dubbed 'a penalty shootout' in official terms, Jonas had stepped into the fray to take the final shot. This was no laughing matter. Events like this could make or break a footballer's confidence. It could change them as a player. To know that millions of people's hopes relied on this moment alone, amongst the millions of others in the game, should have been debilitating. Jonas found it difficult to pick a fucking restaurant on a night out, he was so nervous about disappointing people.

 But at that moment, he had felt like a destroyer of worlds.

He hadn't even felt his heart leap as he walked up to the ball, and faced off Gianluigi Buffon, regarded as one of the best keepers to ever grace the sport. He hadn't even considered the thousands screaming in the crowd, those who had been torn with agony through every penalty before that- through Basti's, through Mesut's, through Thomas's, through Zaza's, through Pelle's. In a similar vein, his mind hadn't lingered upon the millions watching around the world either, with their social media and their friends and their beers and their hopes and desires. The only thing he had thought at all was,  _this is going into the back of the net._

And it had. 

Jonas would never, ever forget the moment he, a left-back from Saarland, who had only recently joined the Bundesliga, and had never stepped foot in a youth academy, had gotten past Buffon. He'd never forget the explosion of cheering that had ricocheted across the stadium as Italy, who Germany had  _never_ beaten in an official game before that, were out, just like that, after that whole fight. The feeling of bodies colliding into him, his teammates' roars, the fans' screams of delight- he was sure he would never experience something like it again. Just like that, Jonas had been the one to decide it all, and he had barely batted an eyelid about it. This Jonas was one that nobody could ever cross. In that moment he had been unstoppable- but at every other moment he didn't have the turf underneath his feet? 

He could be stopped by a child's pinky to the chest.

Sometimes, Jonas really couldn't stand himself. When people pushed him around _in_ the game, he made them pay for it. When they pushed him around _after_ the game, he just let them do it. When people insulted him, he often had the  _perfect_ response in his mind, but he just couldn't say it, because made him feel terrible. He apologised for fucking  _everything_ because he always felt like a burden. He could stride up to the ball in front of a crowd of thousands and score in one of the most important moments of his career, but when faced with journalists who asked him how he did it? It filled him with an anxiety so suffocating it actually blocked off his airways.

People were often surprised to hear that Jonas actually did  _not_ have a perfect discipline record on the pitch at all. He got yellows, he made reckless challenges, his focus wasn't perfect. The man who couldn't make a half-hearted roast without apologising profusely _liked_ to let his anger out on the pitch. Since he had been a child, football had been the way to ease the anxiety that crawled over him like ants. He directed that energy into his foot and let  _it_ do the talking. So much so that his mouth did barely any at all.

But he felt  _useless,_  sometimes.Utterly useless. He was a ball of rancid anxiety and no matter how many people tried to tell him they had faith in him, that they loved him, he didn't believe them. The team's kind words about him, the way they always told him they loved him? The way they always said they would die for him, and other over-the-top declarations of loyalty? He often felt like they were mocking him. He never said it, because he hated accusing people of things, but he just couldn't believe what they said about him. Sometimes he had to blink twice at a nice comment, and a nasty voice in his head would say,  _they're laughing at you. They don't really think these things._

It just made him feel a bit shit. He knew those sorts of thoughts were overly negative, and he tried not to have them, but there were some things you just couldn't help.

He was lost in these thoughts  _now,_ as he sat down on his sofa, slumped over and watching, or rather not watching, SOKO Leipzig. His nerves felt frayed and exposed like livewires next to a giant puddle of water, tender and sparking and raw with energy. Yet he was also so tired he thought he could simply curl up right there on the spot and sleep for hours. His match earlier today had been challenging. He had dealt with some unpleasant figures. The result had been a loss. He thought that what he needed was just to retreat into a dark room for a few hours and  _rest,_ but he couldn't. He was in a stasis, his mind trapped somewhere between racing thoughts and catatonic... sadness. 

When his phone rang, it made his heart leap- he had been steeping in fraught silence for so long and he had  _not_ been expecting it. He had to reach over his sofa, not quite having the energy to get to his feet, his fingers grappling for his phone on the other chair. He had tossed it there as he had entered the house, not really caring where it ended up, because he hadn't been in the mood for anything. 

When he picked it up and checked the caller I.D, he had a  _heart attack._

The numb sensation in his body had disappeared at once and was replaced by  _shock._ He could hardly believe his eyes.

It was Jogi!

Realising that he had left his phone to ring for far too long, Jonas scrambled to answer the call, his brain jumbled in his surprise.

"Hello?" Jogi's familiar voice, somewhat fatherly and somewhat... exasperated at the same time, floated through the line. "Jonas?"

Jonas's heart skipped a beat, oh God, oh God, was what he was thinking was going to happen  _really_ going to happen?

"M-Mr Jogi!" he stammered in a slightly high-pitched voice, after a few seconds of trying to remember what his own name was. "Hi! It's good to hear from you!"

Jogi sighed. That was a sound that was familiar to every single German National Team member.  _Any_ of them would be able to identify it from a mile away. 

"Hello, Jonas. It's good to hear from you too, though I do wish you would stop calling me Mr Jogi. I gave up the hopes of getting any respect a long time ago, so it's weird to be treated like a schoolteacher now."

He was probably joking, but Jonas squawked out an apology anyway. 

"Always the apologies, too," Jogi chuckled. "You are a  _rare_ case in our team. Possibly one of a kind."

Jonas mumbled something halfway between an apology and a thank you, because he didn't quite know the energy behind Jogi's words. 

"Well, as pleasant as you are to talk to, another rare case for the team, I did have some matters I wanted to touch on," Jogi said. Jonas's heart leapt up into his throat. "Namely,  _about_ the team. As you know, the international break is coming up soon-"

"Yes!" Jonas said breathlessly, and then he smacked himself on the head. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt."

"That's quite alright. At least you apologise for it," Jogi said wonderingly, genuinely confused about where in Germany they had found Jonas Hector- and could he get any others from that location? "As I was saying, the international break is coming up soon. I've been following your progress in the 2.Bundesliga, and observing your games in this period. You've remained on form, and you're in good condition to play during the break. I've decided to include you in our squad for the fixtures, if you're willing to be a part of it."

Jonas' heart, so delicate recently, stopped. It was absolutely ridiculous. By now, he should have been used to having Jogi calling him up, he shouldn't have felt so shocked and delighted whenever he heard these words, but he always was. He felt like an overjoyed child when Jogi called to tell him he was going to be playing with the international team. Especially given recent events- the relegation into the 2.Bundesliga, recent losses and yellow cards, his brief time off with injury, he really had been thinking this time that he wouldn't get that phone call-

"Jonas?" Jogi asked, after a few moments of silence. "I do hope I haven't killed you."

"N-No, sir!" Jonas said very hastily. "I- Thank you! So much! I'm just... a little confused? We've had losses recently, and, and I don't know if I've been on the best form-"

"I came to watch some of your games in person, and saw your performances first-hand. You are still putting on elite performances, despite team results. And Köln are still in a good position in the table. You are one point behind Hamburger. So, you shouldn't be confused about why I picked you. You should know by now, I have the utmost faith in you," Jogi said, sounding like he was smiling. "You are one of the best defenders in world football, and I want you to show that when you play for Germany again."

Being praised that much in the space of a few seconds by  _Jogi,_ when he had already been feeling shit about himself, was a little too much for Jonas. He was glad beyond belief that Jogi couldn't see his face, because tears had risen to his eyes and he had to rapidly wave them away.

"Th-Thank you, thank you," he stammered. "So much, Jogi. Thank you. Yes, I accept, I would love to play for the national team during this break. Thank you."

"That's alright, Jonas," Jogi said amusedly. "It's incredible, even the thanss are out of place for me. Whenever I call up Reus or Müller, the first thing they say to me is something about how they've been  _waiting_ for me to call, and why did it take me so long? You definitely have more claim for that sort of confidence than they do."

Jonas laughed nervously. "I don't think that's true... Thomas and Marco are so talented..."

"Yes, well, sometimes I wish they weren't, it'd save me a lot of pain and struggle," Jogi sighed. "Such is my luck. I have a team of the best players in the world, who somehow manage to also be the most annoying in the world. Well, we must always make sacrifices in life, hm? There are some good ones. Miroslav is generally tolerable, Philipp and Manuel are somewhat tolerable, Gomez alternates between being tolerable and just like the buffoons, Boateng  _can_ be tolerable if he wants to be, which is rarely on his mind-"

Jogi went off on a spiel evaluating each player on how annoying they were. Jonas didn't want to interrupt, so he politely listened through it all, whilst secretly dancing with joy, spinning around and around on the spot, jumping up and down. The sadness he had been feeling earlier was gone just like that, the childish joy that came with  _football_ filling his whole body with warmth.

"- and Hummels and Reus together are just an unacceptable combination, I cannot begin to imagine how bad things would have been for me if they had been together during the international tournaments. I sometimes wonder if I was punished for some phantom sin with those two," Jogi finished with yet another sigh. "Oh, would you look at me, talking a lot about something completely unrelated, the squad have been rubbing off on me. Anyway, I'm happy to hear you're accepting the call to the team, and I wish you good health and good form with your league matches before the break."

"Thank you, Jogi!" Jonas said warmly. "I- I wish you good health too, so you'll be strong dealing with the team."

"Thank you, Jonas, but I don't possess divine powers," Jogi said. "I will send you details of everything in due course, of the away and home fixtures. Have a good evening. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Jogi, and vielen danke again!" Jonas said quickly. There was a click which signalled that Jogi had hung up.

Jonas threw his hands up and whooped with delight. It was an over-the-top reaction, but he needed to indulge in these moments of happiness. He was called up! He was going to be playing with the team again, and seeing the friends he hadn't seen for weeks again! It was exactly what he needed to get himself feeling happy again, and maybe he could start believing in himself again, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like ur going to get annoyed by me purposefully writing it so sami and olivier weren't in the call BUT! i have my reasons! i have other plans for their interaction ;)
> 
> i! love! protective! captain! fips! lahm! and i fucking love schweiniski and i nearly cry hurting them my absolute childhood heroes god im so horrible. 
> 
> i??? hope u liked the jonas bit?? i thought about delving into someone's mind a bit??? idk??? i get introspective so much??? it's kind of ridiculous??? but i decided to make it fluffy and sweet after the angst with jogi calling jonas up because :) jonas is one of my favourite defenders in the world after jeri and mats like,, i love him so much as a person but i also genuinely believe he is one of the best left-backs in the world and his own loyalty kind of... limited his career??? i completely respect his wish to stay where he's comfortable but, he could do great things, he IS great, like, i swear, he's so passionate and intense on the pitch, it's amazing to watch in person, genuinely you can sense the fire coming from him even tho he's normally so soft-spoken, that's sort of what i touched on here. i'm just having f e e li n g s about jonas. i love him so much. it helps that i met him and he was the sweetest ever god LORD i love him ultimate sweetie <3333
> 
> hope you guys ENJOYED!!! once again you're all great humans! i'll start shaping things towards the international break now!


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus jeder! 
> 
> am back again!!! wow!!! having no training really opens my mind up to how much time i really have on my hands. today was a good day, paid my mutter and vater a visit and then went to hang with some friends, in a pretty good mood today.
> 
> i am G L A D you guys enjoyed the last chap. let's see if i can keep up a streak :P this is acc pretty a messy chap and im not so sure it's good. im worried. AGH. WHY. AM. I. LIKE. THIS.

Jerome had just finished a session using a punching bag when he traipsed into the kitchen, in dire need of an ice cold drink, a snack, and a shower. He was feeling pleasantly tired from having expended all his energy boxing his worries out and he was even smiling as he went searching for a Coke Zero (Robert had tried to box _him_ when he had seen the six-packs Jerome had carried into the house from Edeka _,_ but Jerome _did_ quite like Coke Zero, it hadn't all been to take the piss). 

He noticed Robert standing by the kitchen counter on his phone as he entered. His boyfriend was facing the other direction and did not look up when Jerome came into the kitchen.

"Man, Rob," Jerome said, opening the fridge and separating a Coke from its pack. "I just kicked the shit out of that punching bag, it really was a good investment for us. I'm actually feeling _rejuvenated._ " 

Robert didn't respond. Jerome glanced over his shoulder at him as he started draining his Coke, it was deliciously cold and was indeed very refreshing. 

"Baby?" he said, closing the fridge and setting his half-empty can onto the counter, approaching Robert, who was still turned resolutely away. "Are you alright?" 

Robert was silent, and then he made a noise halfway between a hum of agreement... and a sob. 

Alarm bells began ringing across Jerome's body. He reached out to lay a hand on Robert's shoulders, and was even more worried to realise that Robert was shaking slightly. 

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Jerome said at once, leaning a little closer to try and get a look at Robert's face. Robert turned his head ever so slightly to look at Jerome, and Jerome's eyes widened and realised Robert was trying very hard not to cry. 

Robert couldn't even speak for a moment, he just expelled a shaky breath and shook his head before inhaling sharply again. Jerome gave a half-glance to his phone, but it was just on the home screen, there was nothing of importance there. Jerome opened his arms and Robert moved into them at once, resting his face against Jerome's shoulder, not talking for a good few moments, still shaking as Jerome rubbed his back and murmured soothing words, instructing Robert on how to breathe.

"In for two, out for four, baby," Jerome whispered. Robert tried his hardest to oblige, but he couldn't manage it. "It's okay, baby. No pressure. Just keep doing what you feel comfortable with doing." 

Eventually, after several minutes of this, Robert lifted his face from Jerome's chest and looked away from his boyfriend. His eyes were blotchy and red.

"What  _happened,_ my love?" Jerome said almost frantically, because he was really getting scared. Was there really bad news? "Did something happen back home? Has something happened to your family? Your  _matka,_ your sister, your  _babcia,_ are they okay?

Robert shook his head, finally responding. "N-No, it's nothing like that. They're fine. It's- it's  _stupid._ I'm sorry, Jeri, I didn't- I didn't mean to freak out like that."

Jerome breathed a sigh of relief, but he didn't drop his worry. "You don't need to apologise, ever. Can you tell me what happened to make you panic like that?"

"You're gonna fucking- you're gonna get pissed," Robert muttered, rubbing at his eyes. "It's idiotic."

"I'd  _never_ get pissed." Jerome was so confused. "I swear I'm not going to react badly, I'm really worried, baby. You  _know_ you can tell me anything." 

Robert nodded, taking deep breaths, still looking away. "God, I'm stupid. Jerzy called."

Jerome blinked. "Jerzy? He called you up for the international break?" 

Robert nodded again.

"But..." Jerome was utterly nonplussed. "Baby... isn't that a good thing? Shouldn't you be happy? You're going off to play with Poland, and it's totally deserved. Why are you panicking about it?"

Even as he said the words, he thought he knew the answer. Sure enough, Robert heaved a deep, frustrated sigh and continued dabbing at his eyes. 

"I told you it was stupid. I was just thinking... about the last international break. When I g-got fucking  _humiliated,_  that penalty, that red card, the scoreline, how fucking awful it was, all the whistles and the jeers and the  _things_ they were yelling at me, and getting yelled at by Jerzy, and the team just shaking their head because it was such a fucking disaster. And Ronaldo patting my shoulder after it was over, the fucking  _bastard,_ I don't care if it was a nice gesture, I  _saw_ he was mocking me. And the tweets, that fucking  _Lewandowski_ hashtag and all the mentions and then every single match analysis completely ripping me apart and analysing all the ways I disappear in big games and for Poland, and criticising every aspect of my existence and saying how I'm really just a fraud-"

He had to take a huge gasp to breathe properly again. Jerome just stared at him.

Robert saw Jerome was staring and broke down again. "Fuck me, I knew you'd be pissed, me being so pathetic and  _still_ going on about it, I'm sorry, Jeri, it's just that when Jerzy called me up I just got scared that something like that would happen again and I don't ever want to feel so humiliated again-"

"I'm notpissed at all!" Jerome said firmly. "I'm not angry at you for feeling like that, why would I be? I'd never get angry at you for something like this! I want you to feel better about all of this, my baby. I  _know_ it's not easy to get over such humiliation, but remember what Marco said? What I said? About how there's more to come, how you just have to keep moving forwards? How it will get better eventually?"

"I know, I know," Robert said, wiping his eyes once more. "I know that I have to get through it, I'm still going to put everything I've got into the next fixture. I wasn't really... I was just... It was just a split-second reaction. A panic attack. I wasn't really thinking rationally, I'm sorry." 

"No, no. No apologies, okay?" Jerome said seriously. "I know how you're feeling, I really do. As many memes as there were about the... slip, it did affect my confidence a  _lot._ So I'm no stranger to being panicky about playing. Don't you remember all the stuff you said to me to comfort me? You don't think you deserve the same thing?"

"I..." Robert sighed. "You're right. You're right, Jeri. It was just so out of the  _norm_ for me that it affected me so badly."

"What are you saying?" Jerome said, jokingly indignant. "That it's in the norm for _me_ to mess up badly? By the way, you didn't mess up badly. You were trying the hardest on that team."

Robert laughed, though his eyes were still red. "Well, I don't want to name any names, cough cough me, but  _one_ of us is a football god who can score five times in nine minutes, and the other, is, well, you, so..."

He shrugged, imitating the Oprah gif, though his heart really wasn't in the brag. Jerome hit him. 

"You absolute buffoon," Jerome said, smiling nonetheless. "I load you up with comfort and you always repay me like this."

"I know, I'm sorry, I love you so much," Robert said with a grin. "You've made me feel better and calmed me down, thank you. But there's one thing I'm really not looking forward to in the international break." 

"What is it?" Jerome asked. Jogi had called him early on today to tell him he was coming, whether he liked it or not. Jerome was excited to see the team again, there was bound to be lots of drama and entertainment.

Robert looked down. "I'm gonna be apart from you again."

"Oh, baby," Jerome said with a soft smile. He had had the exact same thought when he had hung up from Jogi's call, despite how pleased he had been. "I'm going to miss you  _so_ much too. It's going to be horrible. Yet another couple of weeks without my  _world_ with me, just fucking Kroos and Reus. But, we managed it last time-"

"Barely-"

"But we did. Barely or not, we got through it. And we'll manage it again." Jerome leaned forwards to kiss Robert. "And this one is going to be so much better than the last one for you, I know it. You scored a hattrick versus Dortmund. You scored against four other teams. And Italy isn't the same team they were. I believe in you more than I've ever believed in anyone, Rob. You'll be fine. More than fine. You'll be fucking incredible."

"Jeri!" Robert cried, making Jerome jump. "Wood! Wood! Touch wood!"

Both of them had to race to touch the cupboard, Robert having to touch every single one in the kitchen, because he couldn't risk having any more bad luck, he just  _couldn't._

***

Bernd's phone was ringing.

Marc-Andre paused in the middle of his explanation of the different systems Barcelona used, and stared at him. Bernd held up his hand in apology, and fished in his pocket to pull it out- if it was someone from London, he was going to hang up on the spot. He'd had enough of  _explaining_ things for a lifetime.

But It wasn't someone from London. It wasn't someone from London at all.

It was Jogi. 

Bernd stood up so quickly that he banged his thighs against the table. Marc-Andre looked at him in alarm and confusion. Bernd just shook his head at him, already putting the phone to his ear.

"I'm sorry, Marc, I need to take this," he said quietly, urgently.

"Of course," Marc-Andre said, looking puzzled and a little worried. "Are you okay?" 

Bernd just nodded at him, and then he left the room immediately, heading towards the stairs. There was no way he could have this conversation anywhere near Marc-Andre. He swiped right on his phone and put it to his ear.

"Hello?" he said tentatively, as he opened the door to Marc-Andre's bed room, closing it firmly behind him. "Jogi?"

"Ah," Jogi's voice came from the other end of the line. "Leno. You picked up."

"Sorry, the reception where I was wasn't so great," Bernd lied. "I'm in a better spot now."

"That's good to hear," Jogi said. "How are you faring?"

"Fine, thank you," Bernd said stiffly. "I'm in good health and good form. I'd say I'm doing well."

"That's right, you are," Jogi said. And then he cut to the chase, because both of them knew what was going to be said. "Leno, I'm not one for pretense. You know why I'm calling you at this time."

"I do."

There was a moment of silence before Jogi continued. "I called up ter Stegen earlier today."

Bernd knew, but he couldn't exactly say it, so he just stayed silent. Marc-Andre hadn't really said much to Bernd about it, he had just quietly told Bernd that he was going to be in the squad for the international break. Then he had squeezed Bernd's hand and told him to  _wait and see what was going to happen._

 _He doesn't know,_ Bernd had thought, having to look away.  _He doesn't know about how complicated things have been._

"He's going to be a part of the squad. Manuel is, too, though you knew that," Jogi said. "There's a third slot open for the keeper. Kevin has a shoulder problem and is being rested. Ron-Robert and Ralf are off-form at the moment. I know about the history and feelings involved with being behind ter Stegen, and I know you're thinking about the situations that have occurred in the past, but-"

"Jogi," Bernd interrupted. "I- I accept." 

There was more silence. Then:

"You want to be part of the squad?"

Bernd closed his eyes. "Yes. I do. I don't care if I don't get a second on the pitch. I know that's why you haven't called me up before, because you thought it'd be too much trouble to handle, Marc-Andre and I being too volatile, too ambitious, but I don't want things to be the same this time. I... I want to wear a Germany shirt again. I can't take missing out on all this. I can't let my personal issues hold me back, or my own ego. All I can hope to do is prove myself to you, Jogi, like I've tried to do all this time."

"And ter Stegen... You don't feel things will be too difficult to handle with him?"

"No," Bernd said firmly. "Marc-Andre isn't a problem. I've been the problem for myself, too, and that's why you didn't call me. I want to try and change things, Jogi. It worked out for the Confederations Cup, it can work out this time."

 _It barely worked. Bernd, you need to think, stop using your heart and use your head,_ a small voice in his head said. He clamped a hand over its mouth. 

"Well, Leno," Jogi said steadily, after a contemplative silence. "I'm glad to hear it. Of course, anything can happen in football, so don't rule yourself out for playing."

"Of course," Bernd said quietly. "Having the chance to be with Germany's squad is all I want. That's all."

"That is all we want from our players," Jogi said quietly. "You're part of the squad, Leno. I will send you the details of fixtures, tactical meetings and everything at a later date. I hope you have a good day." 

"Thank you, Jogi," Bernd said. There was a click and then silence from Jogi, and Bernd took his phone away from his ear, putting his face into his hands. 

 _God,_ things were complicated. He loved Marc-Andre. He did. But internationally, things were always going to be a knot of bad history that was never going to loosen easily. His own ego, his own feelings of inadequacy, all those years of losing out to Marc-Andre, missing the Euros- 

 _No,_ he thought angrily.  _You're not going to let these thoughts get to you. Things are different now._

He was struck by _how_ different these things were when he finally went downstairs after the conversation. Marc-Andre was still sitting at the table, on his phone, and when Bernd re-entered the kitchen, he rose quickly from his chair. Seeing him look so worried was fucking mind-boggling for Bernd. After all these years of them both pretending to not have a care in the world for each other...

"Bernd, are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of concern. "You just upped and left so quickly, has something happened?"

"Yes," Bernd said quietly. "I got called up." 

Marc-Andre's eyes widened. As Bernd had expected, there wasn't joy on his face. There was confusion. 

He didn't let it bother him. He knew things were just as complicated for Marc-Andre with this whole ridiculous situation as they were for him. 

"Wow," Marc-Andre said in a quiet voice, his face battling through several different expressions before finally settling on a smile. "Wow! I guess we're both going off to the international break! So when you leave here, it won't be goodbye after all, eh?"

His voice was unnaturally hearty.

There was another thing Bernd hadn't thought about. Leaving Barcelona. And what was going to happen after that. Because they didn't play together. They were both in different countries. 

 _Let's focus on that later,_ he thought, as Marc-Andre opened his arms for a hug of congratulations and Bernd walked into them.  _Because if you focus on it now, you're going to hyperventilate and die, and you won't get to play_ ever again.

***

_bayern won the bundesliga_

_Thomas Muller added Kai Havertz to bayern won the bundesliga._

**Thomas:** everyone

 **Thomas:** it's time to introduce the newest member of the shitshow

 **Thomas:** kai havertz has received his first call-up to the senior team

 **Toni:** My condolences, Havertz.

 **Julian B:** my apprentice

 **Fips:** Welcome to the team, Kai.

_Private chat between Julian Brandt and Kai Havertz_

**Kai:** i am S C R E A M I NG

 **Kai:** ICH KANN NICHT JULE IM GONNA DIE

 **Kai:** PHILIPP LAHM SAID 'WELCOME TO THE TEAM' TO ME

 **Kai:** I'M FINISHED

 **Kai:**  ANDTONI KROOS REGARDED MY EXISTENCE

 **Kai:** I-

 **Julian B:** believe me honey you won't be starstruck for long

 **Kai:** DAS IST NICHT,,, MÖGLICH

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Kai:**  omg thank you so much mr lahm captain sir i'm :))))) so happy i'm part of the team i can't :)))

 **Thomas:** MR LAHM?????????????????????????????????

 **Marco:** i had to blink twice at my screen

 **Fips:** That was strange.

 **Fips:** 'Respect'.

 **Fips:** You may call me Fips, Kai.

 **Kai:** omg... for real?

 **Fips:** For real.

 **Kai:** i can't

 **Kai:** i'm just out here, calling my childhood hero 'fips'

 **Fips:** How old are you?

 **Kai:** 19 sir!!

 **Leroy:** wow. im not the young Talent anymore.

 **Kai:** you are so amazing leroy you're like wow you're so talented you're wayyyyy more talented than me you are the Big Talent

 **Leroy:** are you sure ur in the right national team? only jonas is nice here

 **Thomas:** he's,,, i've never witnessed anything like it,,, what is going on?? respect??

 **Fips:** I'm liking it.

 **Julian B:** it won't last for long, don't get too excited. he's just starstruck 

 **Toni:** By who?

 **Kai:** TONI KROOS ALSO YOU ARE THE BEST MIDFIELDER IN THE WORLD WOW 

 **Toni:** Ok wow why are people making me feel bad about roasting now

 **Toni:** That's new

 **Toni:** Thanks kid

 **Basti:** TONI is the best midfielder in the world?

 **Kai:** BASTIAN SCHWEINSTEIGER OH MY LORD AHHHHH AT BAYERN YOU ARE SO AMAZING AND LIKE?? THERE'S SO MANY GOOD MIDFIELDERS IN GERMANY THAT I CAN'T PICGKX ONE YOU ARE ALSO THE BEST EVER EVERYONE'S THE BEST SO M ANY GOATS IN ONE LOCATION

 **Basti:** ok just had to check. hi kai, good to see you in the squad at last :)

 **Jonas:** Hi, Kai! I've seen some of your youth games and your games for Leverkusen, you're a real talent, I'm so glad you've joined the senior team!!!

 **Kai:** OMG JONAS HECTOR I'M SUCH A FAN AAAAAAAAAAA THANK YOUUU 

_Private chat between Julian Brandt and Kai Havertz_

**Julian B:** u know ur gonna look back at this and want to fucking die

 **Kai:** DOUBTFUL I WANT TO DIE ALREADY IM SO HAPPY

 **Julian B:** did u listen to none of my warnings about the team? none of my stories?

 **Kai:** THEY'RE SO COOL

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Jonas:** Hahaha thank you! I'm more of a fan of you, you're doing so well at the moment!

 **Kai:** AAAA THANK YOU I HATE KÖLN BUT LIKE I LOVE YOU

 **Toni:** Considering what club you come from I'm surprised you're this good Havertz

 **Toni:** Bayer without me just isn't the same

 **Julian B:** go and fucking eat lopetegui

 **Thomas:** toni he is not used to roasting yet let the poor boy BREATHE

 **Kai:** NO IT'S FINE I GET ROASTED ALL THE TIME BY EVERYONE AND JULIAN TOLD ME U GUYS LOVE ROASTING SO I'M USED TO IT

 **Kai:** I CAN TAKE IT I'M SO READY

 **Julian B:** don't wet yourself, kai

 **Kai:** SHUT UP 

 **Miro:** Hello Kai

 **Kai:** AND IT'S MIROSLAV KLOSE THE LITERAL LEGEND YOU ARE SO AMAZING AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

 **Kai:** your goals Make Me Go Crazy!!!!!!

 **Miro:** I like him

 **Mesut:** so you're kai havertz, huh?

 **Mesut:** the new midfield god everyone's talking about?

_Private chat between Kai Havertz and Julian Brandt_

**Julian B:** don't die

 **Kai:** TOO FUCKING LATE

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Kai:** MESUT OZIL OMG OMG OMG

 **Kai:** YOU'RE LITERALLY MY INSPIRATION FOR MY PLAYING STYLE AND EVERYTHING AND YOU'RE THE BEST NO.10 IN THE WORLD AAAAA IM DEAD

**Mesut:**

**Mesut:** did you hear that, sam?

 **Sami:** Hear what

 **Mesut:** read his words

 **Sami:** MESUT is your inspiration?

 **Kai:** he sure is!!!! he's so cool!!!! 

 **Sami:** I

 **Sami:** Ok no it's too early for me to eviscerate you.

 **Sami:** You do you, Kai.

 **Sami:** For now.

 **Kai:** :D

 **Mesut:** just wanna put it out there honeys, i am an inspiration to someone

 **Manu:** I'm an inspiration to literally every person in the world who wants to become a goalkeeper

 **Kai:** MANUEL NEUER!!! WOW!! I'M IN A GROUP CHAT WITH MANUEL NEUER!!

 **Kai:** I LIKE LOVE YOU BUT I ALSO DON'T LOVE U BECAUSE U SAVE ALL MY GOALS AND I HAVENT SCORED PAST YOU EVER YET BUT I STILL LOVE YOU BC UR AMAZING AND TERRIFYING BUT AMAZING!!

 **Manu:** That's EXACTLY how I want people to react to me.

 **Marco:** ok havertz

 **Marco:** let's do a quick character judgement test

 **Marco:** is hummels a good centre back?

 **Kai:** yes!!

 **Marco:** cool! we're not going to be friends

 **Kai:** :o

 **Kai:** for real?

 **Kai:** i think hummels is a good centreback tho!!!! 

 **Mats:** we ARE going to be friends kai :)

 **Fips:** Marco no poisoning of minds. He's new.

 **Fips:** A friendly warning, Kai:

 **Fips:** What you'll have to learn about Reus and Hummels is that they're two children in a battle for power none of them will ever get, and so they spend all their time hurling insults at each other and wasting everybody's time with their nonsense. On the international break they will be petty, annoying and drag everyone down with them. Marco will try and recruit you for his schemes to make Mats angry and Mats will harass you for answers about what Marco did.

 **Kai:** damn!!! that's Intense. 

 **Kai:** i am so enlightened now wow

 **Kai:** i thought they were best friends!! but they're not!! Crazy!!

 **Jerome:** i blinked thrice. and that message is still real

 **Julian B:** kai i literally told u mats and marco hate each other

 **Kai:** i thought it was a Bamboozle but it's actually true w h o a

 **Kai:** is this because mats went tobayern?¿  

 **Thomas:** kid... julian hasn't told u much, has he?

 **Julian B:** some things you literally just can't explain. 

 **Marco:** what's hard to explain?

 **Marco:** mats hummels is a cunt

 **Marco:** that is all

 **Mats:** and marco reus is a narcissistic, supercillious, sanctimonious and insufferable piece of shit

 **Toni:** Speaking of narcissistic, supercillious, sanctimonious and insufferable pieces of shit

 **Toni:** Who got called up for the break?

 **Thomas:** literlaly everyone from bayern got called

 **Kai:** i did!! 

 **Kai:** wait hahaha that's kind of obvious wow i'm not very Clever

 **Toni:** Wait wait wait let me change my question before the chain of messages come in

 **Toni:** Who hasn't been called up?

 **Serge:** got that sweet sweet injury vs leipzig :) 

 **Thomas:** oh wait everyone from bayern but serge

 **Leon:** :( 

 **Jonas:** I'm sorry Serge! :(

 **Ron-Robert:** No call for me but I was kind of expecting it

 **Mario Gom:** Sorry Ron :((

 **Marco:** wait what??? ron-robert didn't get called up??

 **Marco:** wait has marc-andre been called up??

 **Marc-Andre:** Bon giorno yeah I have

 **Mario Got:** what the hell marc-andre where have you been???

 **Mario Got:** it's been like a week 

 **Marc-Andre:** Oh you know Barcelona training and everything like that it's a busy time!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

 **Marc-Andre:** I feel like I've missed a lot 

 **Marc-Andre:** Hi Kai!!!! 

 **Kai:** hi marc-andre ter stegen you're so amazing goalkeeper!!!!!!!

 **Marc-Andre:** Wow a compliment you're Out Of Place

 **Julian B:** seriously he's no jonas he'll become a dickhead soon

 **Marco:** wait so  marc-andre 

 **Marco:** u got called up??

 **Marc-Andre:** Yeah I did

 **Mario Got:** who's the third choice keeper then?? kevin???

 **Marc-Andre:** I have absolutely no idea!!!!!

 **Manu:** No it's not Kevin Kevin has shoulder problems

 **Manu:** It's Bernd

 **Manu:** Jogi told me earlier but I don't know what Bernd's doing atm

 **Jerome:** wait BERND got called up??? 

 **Manu:** Yeah

 **Jerome:** fr???

 **Manu:** Yeah he did

 **Manu:** It's me, Marc-Andre and Bernd on the roster

_Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Manuel Neuer_

**Jerome:** but i thought jogi didn't call bernd up bc bernd didn't want to be behind marc-andre when being called up?

 **Jerome:** because of their rivalry?  

 **Manu:** That's what I thought, I have no idea what changed, guess he's coming with us this time tho

 **Jerome:** wow ok then, weird

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Jerome:** where tf isbernd??

 **Bernd:** uh hello 

 **Mario Got:** what the FRICK FRACK bernd ur back too??? _  
_

**Bernd:** yes hello it has been a Busy Week

 **Lukas:** yeah he's been all over london lol

 **Mario Got:** and ur the third keeper???

 **Bernd:** yessir

 **Mario Got:**???

 **Mario Got:** and there's not a single complaint???

 **Mario Got:** marc-andre is happy with it???

_Private chat between Mesut Ozil and Bernd Leno_

**Mesut:** a word of solidarity, mein freund:

 **Mesut:** LMAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 **Bernd:** please die at the earliest convenience

_Private chat between Sami Khedira and Bernd Leno_

**Sami:** Mes told me everything and Bernd

 **Sami:** If you wanna carry out this 'hiding' thing to the very end, I'll keep this secret for you

 **Sami:** But it's not gonna end well :) it's going to blow up in your faces :) this is Germany :)

 **Bernd:** exit :) my :)  life :)

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Marc-Andre:** Obviously I'm not fucking happy about it eh

 **Marc-Andre:** But what am I gonna do? Cross Jogi?

 **Marc-Andre:** Just gonna have to put up with wanting death for a week, but what's new

 **Mario Got:** im fucking confused here

 **Marco:** why are you complaining mar

 **Marco:** this is gonna be fucking hysterical

 **Marco:** i personally have been waiting for this for my entire life 

 **Jerome:** well i'm baffled but cool bernd, u've been having great performances recently

 **Bernd:** t h a n k s jerome

 **Manu:** Really have been pulling off some amazing saves, will be good to have you behind me

 **Bernd:** wow i,, 

 **Bernd:** thankyou :) 

_Private chat between Manuel Neuer and Mario Gotze_

**Mario Got:** is it just me or is something going on???

 **Mario Got:** you just complimented bernd and marc-andre didn't say a word???

 **Manu:** I know that's why I did it because I saw he didn't reply to Jerome either

 **Manu:** I was really confused when Jogi told me Bernd got called up

 **Manu:** Not because Bernd is bad or anything but bc I thought things were really complicated with that whole situation

 **Manu:** I've literally been in the middle of this, it was even more complicated during the Euros

 **Manu:** Bernd was in the qualifications but literally it was his relationship with Marc-Andre that meant that he was dropped for the final squad

 **Manu:** I don't know what the hell is happening but I want to find out I'll have to see during the break

 **Manu:** I'll keep a close eye on them

 **Mario Got:** that's literally what i thought too wtf i've been with them since 2009 and it's never not been overly complicated

 **Mario Got:** something's going on definitely

 **Mario Got:** i'll observe them too

 **Manu:** We both can

 **Manu:** I want to get to the bottom of this

 **Mario Got:** ok cool

 **Mario Got:** i don't know what to think about this man

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Thomas:** so that's the international break then

 **Thomas:** vs the netherlands and france again

 **Thomas:** kai is part of the squad now

 **Kai:** :DDDD

 **Thomas:** bernd is here...

**Bernd:**

**Julian D:** We'll get to see gorgeous sexy giroud again <3

 **Joshua:** excuse me?

 **Sami:** The fuck

_Private chat between Julian Draxler and Joshua Kimmich_

**Julian D:** DON'T KILL ME JOSH I WAS TRYING TO BAMBOOZLE SAMI

 **Joshua:** YOU'RE TOEING THE LINE JULE

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Sami:** Don't start this shit again 

 **Sami:** We're here to play FOOTBALL

 **Leon:** ok honey, don't cry, it'll be okay <3

 **Sami:** I don't 

 **Sami:** I can't

 **Sami:** HANDLE you guys

 **Kai:** omg damn u guys are talking about olivier giroud

 **Kai:** he is SOOOO good looking i can't

 **Kai:** wow im so glad everyones gay here because ive been holding that within me for so long

 **Marco:** he just IS gorgeous isn't he kai?? mind-bogglingly so?

 **Jerome:** those shoulders...

 **Kai:** omg moods everywhere he is so b e a u t iful

 **Kai:** i would give up my education,,, for olivier giroud, i am so gay for him it's unreal

_Private chat between Leon Goretzka and Julian Brandt_

**Leon:** i am crying... there are tears cascading down my cheeks... and falling on the floor... kai havertz... he's really just signed his own death warrant...

 **Leon:** he's... such a sweet ray of sunshine... but he's about to be plunged into darkness by the malevolent force that is sami khedira...

 **Julian B:** i may have forgotten to warn him about mesami... 

 **Leon:** a quantifiable error

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Mesut:** it seems you aren't the only one to feel that way kai

 **Kai:** omg my idol agrees with me

 **Marco:**   **he sure does.**

 **Kai:** like seriously tho GIROUD

 **Kai:** serioiusly like what did god do when making him

 **Kai:** was he like "uhhhhh so i need a secret weapon so im going to make a man so blindingly beautiful he just kills everyone"

 **Mario Got:** our new recruit has good taste. there's a reason you're part of this squad kai

_Private chat between Julian Brandt and Kai Havertz_

**Julian B:**  kai

 **Kai:** yes !

 **Julian B:** you've just taken a shit with your clothes on

**Kai:**

**Julian B:** you just attracted the eternal rage and hatred of sami khedira

 **Kai:** :O

 **Kai:** for real?

 **Julian B:** for real.

 **Kai:** but i didn't say anything to him!! omg i didn't want to make enemies straight off,,

 **Kai:** what did i DO jule... can i make him forgive me omg im screaming

 **Kai:** he didn't even say anything--- how do u know hes mad at me??

 **Julian B:** honey... 

 **Julian B:** you still have a lot to learn.

 **Julian B:** it's time for me to tell you about mesami.

 **Kai:** mesami??

 **Kai:** mes... and sami??

 **Kai:** OOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

 **Kai:** FOR REEEEEALLLLLLL????

 **Julian B:** for REAL.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was about time i introduced kai havertz into the fray! i seriously love that beautiful boy so much, he's our future. he was going to be in it all along but i got trapped in feelings about the older squads we had. but he's here now!!!
> 
> and i don't know if u guys are aware of this, but, you guys know bernd and marc-andre are really cold in real life, right?? and they actually aren't friends and are real rivals?? i was just curious if you guys know this, bc literally the whole reason bernd doesn't get called up much, or at least it's the popular consensus in germany, is because he wouldn't be content to be the third keeper with no chance of playing behind marc-andre. it made me so sad as well, bernd was so excited in this pre-world cup qualification tweets and stuff and seemed so eager to be called up, but marc got called ahead of him and he didn't go :( like, they don't even follow each other (and everyone in the german team follows each other), they really don't like each other. before this fic even started i wasn't even CONSIDERING putting them together because i know they're so cold with each other, but i decided to put a comic twist on it and make it a petty love-denying rivalry that was literally j meant to be comic relief and mocking of their real life chilliness, and look at me now. i blame you guys for making me so serious about it :P
> 
> so if there is angst with steno, don't be surprised, bc ive literally based half of their relationship off of these real life feelings. i just felt like putting it out there bc i saw a comment surprised they didn't follow each other. seriously, steno isn't real :( also i feel so fucking bad for bernd at the moment, things are so complicated with him. 
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed!! <3333


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SERVUS JEDER!!!
> 
> FROHES NEUES JAHR!!! i hope you all had a great time!! i personally, have been fucking hungover the whole day from partying last night, but today has also been a lazy day with me doing absolutely nothing so ive had time to write this. what did you guys do!!
> 
> uhh,, i don't really know how to open this chapter other than to say enjoy :)

In his career of many years, Gianluigi Buffon had learnt how to spot a teammate in distress from a mile off. From the second he and Sami made eye contact at the beginning of training he had known something was up, and Sami only proved this hypothesis all throughout the day.

"Can you go and eat your mother, Gianluigi Buffoon _?_ " the central midfielder bellowed at Gigi, as he managed to save his practice penalty. “You think you're all that, don't you? Just because you can save a few goals? You think you’re a big man? Well, do you know what I think? I think you're a fraud!”

Gigi stood up from where he had just knocked away Sami's ball, which had rolled forlornly onto the other side of the training pitch. 

"Calm down, Sami," he said jovially, because he knew far better than to get offended by moody teammates' petulant taunts. "There's always next time."

This seemed to make Sami even more annoyed. 

"Yeah, there is always next time!" he yelled at Gigi. "Next time for me to- to fucking cut your head off! You stupid coconut head!"

"You're in a  _charming_ mood today, aren't you?" Gigi chuckled, arching one eyebrow. "What's brightened your spirits so much on this fine morning?"

"Deine Mutter!" Sami shouted, picking up his ball and stalking away as Paulo, looking totally indifferent to his friend's inexplicable fury, went up to take the next spot kick. Gigi watched him go with a sigh. Obviously he was now going to have to find out the reason for this peevishness later on.

It was after training was finished that he made that step, because Sami was in such a filthy mood that Gigi thought that it would be no use trying to talk rationally to him until he had simmered off a bit. The midfielder had been banished to collecting the training equipment because he had told Giorgio to do something somewhat reprehensible in the earshot of Allegri. He had stomped around at first, cursing at everyone who rolled their eyes amusedly, but eventually he had slowed down, merely dragging his feet across the turf.

Gigi walked up to him and laid a hand on his friend's shoulder, to test the waters, so to speak. Sami gave him a sullen glare, but didn't say anything. 

"Have you cooled down a little?" he asked in a good-natured tone. "You're liable to be on clean-up duty for the rest of the month if Massimiliano hears you saying stuff like what you said to Giorgio again."

"This shithole _needs_ to be cleaned of waste like Giorgio."

"That's the spirit," Gigi sighed. He picked up one of the cones and placed it onto the string bag Sami had slung over his shoulder. "Sami, Sami, Sami. Talk to your captain. What's gotten your goat?"

"Deine Mutter."

"This is the moodiest I've seen you in a long time, and that's saying something," Gigi said, refusing to be deterred by Sami's malevolent expression and un-cooperative responses. He wanted to get to the bottom of this. "Something really major must have happened to cause you to act like this. Why don't you get it off your chest? It might help."

"Why don't you get deine Mutter off of my chest?" 

Gigi just stared at him, completely unmoved. 

"Don't look at me like that," Sami said crossly. "I don't want a heart-to-heart, if that's what you're after. Not one with your _trashcan_ of a heart, anyway. What I want is a long, sharp blade and a ticket to London."

"Ah," Gigi said. "That's some progress, I suppose. The source of your violent anger is coming from London." 

"Hot take. What will he come out with next?" Sami picked up the final cone on this side of the pitch and placed it on Gigi's head. Gigi took it off and placed it in the bag. 

"You do know I won't leave you be until you tell me what in the world is going on?" Gigi asked patiently. "And no, violent gestures won't get rid of me. I'm forty years old. I've seen far worse than  _that,_ Sami." 

"Retire."

"If you want the club to implode." Gigi picked up a cone that fell out of the bag and returned it to its place. "Hm. What could possibly be in London that has your blood boiling so badly? Let me rummage through my extensive history of interactions with you and Germany to see what I can come up with."

"What's that meant to mean?" Sami said, a little too quickly. 

"It means," Gigi said mildly. "That I've faced off you and Mesut Özil a great deal. And it always seemed to  _me_ that you were inseparable, so I'm wondering what could have happened to make you so angry with him."

"I-" Sami floundered on the spot, before bending a little too aggressively to reach for another cone, meaning the entire bag on his shoulder fell to the ground. "Verdammt noch mal!"

Gigi sighed and helped him to pick them all up while Sami hurled every bit of colourful profanity he knew at him- in German, Italian, English, Spanish... It was quite impressive.

"So, judging by  _that_ reaction, I was right on the money, eh?" Gigi asked with a smile. 

" _Ne,_ du kleine Fotze, es war tatsächlich falsch," Sami said angrily, snatching the cone bag off of Gigi and throwing it over his shoulder again. "It's... It's not really Mes. Well, it  _is_ Mes, a bit, but it's more to do with- to do with ein andere kleine Fotze-"

He made a face, smacking his forehead with his fist, and then he finally conceded.

"Olivier Giroud!" 

Gigi blinked in bewilderment. He hadn't been following what Sami had been uttering in German, so the sudden spouting of the French Arsenal striker's name caught him off guard.

"Pardon?" he asked, as if Sami had just told him he was engaged to Joachim Löw. "Olivier Giroud?"

Sami let out a frustrated yell. "You asked me who it was in London that was bothering me, and I just told you, you idiot!"

"Olivier Giroud?" Gigi repeated. "The Arsenal striker?  _He_ was the one who made you so angry?"

"Damn straight, he made me angry, he always makes me angry!" Sami said vehemently. " _He's_ got me feeling like this!"

Gigi felt like he was missing a trick, here. "Have you ever even interacted with Giroud? You've never played with him, and I wasn't under the impression that you'd faced each other internationally much. What on Earth has he done to you to get you feeling like that?"

"He exists!" Sami yelled. "And he's a stupid, annoying, smarmy, self-absorbed asshole! Everyone thinks he's  _all_ that, admiring his  _hair_ and his  _pretty_ _face_ and his  _accent_ and his  _shoulders_ and they just ignore how obnoxious he is! And they're always going on and on about him! About how _amazing_ he is, how _beautiful_ he is, how  _funny_ he is!  Mes has fallen for his- his non-existent  _charms,_ hook, line and sinker! He acts like Giroud walked straight from heaven's gates! And it's so annoying! They're always taking stupid selfies and are on each other's stories and Mes is always telling me about  _that funny thing Oli said last weekend, oh, Oli did this amazing trick in training,_ and everyone from Germany seems to have a fucking boner for him, and it's- it's-"

He seemed to struggle to find a word bad enough to encompass how he felt.

"Annoying!" he said finally, stamping his foot. 

There was a moment of silence, and then Gigi spoke up. 

"Well," the Italian captain said, folding his arms. "Well, well, well."

"Well  _what?_ " Sami demanded furiously. "I don't see what's  _well_ about any of this! It's all fucking shit! Giroud is fucking shit! He's not even a prolific goalscorer!" 

"Sami!" Gigi said, laughing despite himself as Sami accidentally kicked over the next cone he was meant to be picking up. "Don't you see where all this irrational anger is coming from?"

"What's irrational about it?" Sami said stubbornly, bending down to pick it up again. "Everything I said is true!"

"Okay, okay," Gigi said consolingly, because the German looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel. "Let's think about things carefully, here. How many times have you spoken to Giroud in your lifetime?"

Sami said nothing.

"Sami?" Gigi prompted him.

"I- I've spoken to him a few times," Sami snapped. "In some international matches."

"Have you really?" Gigi asked. He knew the classic signs of a liar, and Sami was exhibiting literally all of them. "Or have you watched  _Mesut_ talk to Giroud while you waited awkwardly by the side?"

Sami tried to stab Gigi with a cone. Gigi, displaying some of his famed reflexes, dodged it and continued.

"Do you think it's what Giroud has  _done_ that has gotten you feeling like this?" he persisted. "Or do you think it's what has happened because of him?" 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sami said crossly. 

"As you said, the fact that Mesut seems to like Giroud a lot angers you," Gigi explained. "Do you feel like you're losing your best friend to him? Is that why you're so angry? Do you think Giroud is stealing the moments you could be having together from you?" 

Sami stared at Gigi as if he was a foreign species. He genuinely looked like he had entered a trance. Gigi waited, hoping that a considering expression would cross the midfielder's face, that his voice would soften as he contemplated Gigi's words and eventually got to the root of the problem, and realised he was being unreasonable.

None of these things happened. Sami's face twisted suddenly with annoyance, and then he dropped the bag of cones at his feet, turning around and storming off. Gigi watched him go without protesting. If Gigi was being entirely honest, he had expected something like that would happen. The jealous were not known for their penchant for thoughtfulness. His two decade-long career, his experiences with love and anger, had taught him this, along with his interactions with other idiot teammates.

If his experience was anything to go by, however, he would have at least planted seeds of thought into Sami's head. Gigi knew that Sami's angry reaction was probably because he didn't want to accept that the goalkeeper was right. He was so self-assured about his own emotions that the slightest challenge made his defences go up at once.

Oh, well. It was the international break, soon, and that meant Sami would be meeting Özil again. That would probably be enough to soften Sami's obstinance and help him get to the root of all his anger... especially because Germany had France in their Nations League group. But if it didn't, well, maybe this was just going to be one of those things that you couldn't help.

***

Kai was a firecracker of energy, and even the day's gruelling training session had not been enough to deplete it. The boy was bouncing on the balls of his feet as he and Julian walked into a local Leverkusen cafe, vibrating with enthusiasm as he gushed about how excited he was about taking part in the international break.  
  
In fact, Julian was starting to get a little concerned at just _how_ excited Kai was. As far as he was concerned, the way he had described the team should have put the fear of God into the boy's heart, but instead, he seemed inordinately thrilled at how dysfunctional everything was.  
  
"This is just so amazing," he sighed, beaming at the waitress who came to take their orders (the waitress looked a little flustered). " _I'm_ going to join _Germany_ during the _international_ _break_! _I'm_ playing for the _national team_! Mr Löw thinks I'm good enough to be with the best team in the world!"  
  
"Oh my God, please don't call him Mr Löw," Julian said in horror. "They'd absolutely eviscerate you with mockery if you did it in front of them. You _can_ just call him Jogi, you know."  
  
"For real?" Kai asked wondrously. "He lets you call him by his first name? You don't even have to call him Coach?"  
  
"Yep. Jogi is the last person you'd address formally, to be honest," Julian said. "You'll find out that he's not the most... regal of coaches in the world."  
  
Kai pressed his hands against his cheeks, looking enlightened. "Wow! He always looks so intimidating and unimpressed on the sidelines that I thought he'd be super strict."  
  
"I think he _wants_ to be super strict, but who's going to listen to him?" Julian snorted. "Only Jonas and occasionally Fips tries to follow everything he says."  
  
"Jonas! Jonas is _so_ nice, he texted me wishing me good luck yesterday and I died and ascended to heaven, I didn't think any of them would ever text _me_ privately!" Kai said eagerly. "And Fips! Wow, it's bonkers, calling him Fips. Philipp. Fips. _Fips._ Is he super strict and tough? He looks super strict and tough. And he uses full punctuation in his texting, that's kind of scary, I didn't know whether he'd tell me off for writing in no caps like Bosz did once."  
  
Julian burst out laughing. "Jonas is definitely the sweetest person on the team, you'll want to die for him the more you talk to him. And Fips... well, he's kind of a paradox. Sometimes the man is about as harmful as a knitted jumper, at other times he'll fucking rip your cock off if you blink at the wrong moment."  
  
Kai's eyes widened and he immediately crossed his legs. "For real?"  
  
"For real," Julian promised him. "You've got to learn when it's right to cross Fips and when it isn't. I've made the mistake of overstepping the line at the wrong time in front of him before... And I don't think I'll ever fully recover from the experience."  
  
Kai's mouth fell open in a perfect o.  
  
"So _that's_ why he's captain," he said admiringly, and then he looked stressed. "Oh, man, Jule, do you think he'd eviscerate me if I do something stupid, like talk at the wrong time like I always do even though I don't mean to? Would he yell at me a lot? I don’t like it when people yell at me, it gives me anxiety, oh, man, like the time when Bosz-"  
  
Julian was sensing an incoming unrelated spiel, and so he decided to jump in before Kai made himself even more worried.  
  
"Honestly, honey, compared to some of the others of the squad, you'll look like a saint. I doubt Fips will destroy _you_ when Marco and Mats are out there existing," he said soothingly.  
  
"Maybe I have to worry more about Sami," Kai said, biting his thumbnail. "I feel like he's really scary too. He's so big, oh man, is _he_ going to tear my cock off?"  
  
"Sami is a joke of the highest degree, the only thing dangerous about him is how petty he is," Julian reassured him. "It's Manu a newcomer should be worrying about the most, to be honest."  
  
"Manu? Oh! Manuel Neuer! You get to call him Manu! That's so crazy! I just get to call the best goalkeeper ever by a nickname! Like he's my friend!" Kai's attention span was as short as the captain he had been worrying about. "Is he really scary to teammates? I know he's really scary on the pitch because once he saved one of my shots from a corner and he gave me a look like he wanted to kill me and it made me fear for my life. Though, to be honest, I feel like I should've been mad at him because he was the one who stopped me scoring- oh, danke- agh, no, es tut mir leid!”  
  
The waitress had returned with their coffees, and Kai had been so eagerly gratified he accidentally sent his hands flailing and knocked one of the coffees over the table.  
  
Julian sighed. God. _He_ was sighing now.  
  
"Es tut mir leid, es tut mir leid!" Kai said frantically, leaping to his feet to help the waitress. "I didn't mean to do that! Sorry! I'll go help you clean it up!"  
  
He rushed off to go and find some napkins before the waitress could get a word in edgeways. The woman looked utterly bewildered and Julian could only silently mouth an apology as Kai returned, mopping his coffee up and promising he would tip more for spilling what she had made.  
  
"That's alright, Herr Havertz…” she said. “Really, you don't need to worry.”

“Hey, you know my name!” Kai said excitedly. “Do you support Leverkusen? Or have I come in here before and just-”

“Alright, sit back down, honey, there's a good attacking midfielder,” Julian intoned, pulling Kai back down and silently apologising to the harried waitress again. She just looked a bit startled and hurried away again to get a second coffee cup. “You were going to give the poor woman an aneurysm, Kai. You're going to give _yourself_ an aneurysm if you don't chill out.”

Kai waved his hands about. “Sorry! I'm just so hyped up! I'm going to be part of a squad with so many cool people! And I'll get to see Bernd again! Bernd! It's been so long since I've seen him, I miss him so much. He hasn't been responding to any of my texts recently either so I haven't been able to even talk to him so that sucks. But soon I'll get to see him in person and talk to him face to face again!”

Julian smiled a little sadly. Bernd leaving Leverkusen had been pretty much the first time Kai had lost a friend to the transfer window, and the poor boy had been quite torn up about it, having been close with the goalkeeper. Julian found himself getting a little annoyed at the same time, however- why was Bernd ignoring Kai?

“We'll have _so_ much to talk about,” Kai said happily. “I'm so glad he's coming for this break, man! It was sad when he didn't get called up because ter Stegen- wait, I can call him Marc-Andre now! It was sad when he didn't get called up because Marc-Andre was in the squad too.”

“Yeah, but now they've _both_ been called up,” Julian said thoughtfully, as the waitress returned with Kai’s new coffee cup. The boy made sure to take it exceedingly carefully from her hand and gave her a sunny grin. “It's weird. I guess you could say it's because Kevin has shoulder issues and Ralf and Ron-Robert have been bad, but to be honest, they wouldn't even get to play anyway. Just weird how Bernd has been called up just like that.”

“But he's so good!” Kai said.  “I think it's so cool he can finally be there even though Marc-Andre is there. For my first senior team call up too!”

“I'm not questioning his ability,” Julian said. “And I know it's cool. But it’s just like you said. Bernd didn't get called up because Marc-Andre was in the squad and it would just cause tension. And you know that he can't go a damn moment of his miserable life without saying how much he hates Marc-Andre. Don’t you remember what happened after the Confederations Cup? But yesterday they were barely complaining.”

Kai bit his thumbnail contemplatively again, looking anxious. “You don't think it will all go wrong, do you?”

“Kai. It's Germany. Frankly I’d be surprised if anything went right.” Julian took a long swig of his coffee and sighed again. God, it really was alarming how much he was sighing now. “Things going wrong is just par for the course in this fucking shitshow of a squad. But the weird thing is that Bernd’s call-up _hasn't_ actually caused any problems yet.”

Kai looked confused. “Is that… a bad thing?”

“Who knows?” Julian sighed. “I guess we just have to talk to him and find out what's up.”

“That's cool by me!” Kai said brightly. “I'm just happy we get to talk to him at all! It's been too long!”

He drained some of his coffee. Julian privately thought that caffeine was the last thing Kai needed. The boy demonstrated this a second later by suddenly smacking the table so hard the poor waitress nearby jumped out of her skin and jabbed herself in the forehead with her mop.

“What?” Julian asked, recognising the avid excitement in his eyes and feeling wary.

“I just remembered!” Kai said in delight. “Our Nations League Group! We're playing _France!”_

“Yeah… and wh- oh, wait. _Giroud.”_

 _“Giroud!”_ Kai agreed dreamily. “The most beautiful man in the world! I'll be in the general vicinity of him! He will be somewhat close to me for a short period of time! Unless there's some wild turn of events which means I actually get playing time, which means I could actually physically interact with him!”

Julian smirked as Kai tipped his chair back and forth, clutching his heart.

“Remember what I told you, Kai?” he said with a grin. “About Sami?”

“Yeah!” Kai said cheerfully. “That he's in love with my idol and he doesn't know about it, so I should help him recognise his feelings by gushing about Giroud so he gets jealous about it and wonders why he's so jealous so he'll realise he's in love!”

“Perfect,” Julian said. “It's for the greater good. And you're still willing to sacrifice yourself for the cause, right? For Mesami? Because you know that Sami might end up flaying you alive.”

Kai looked more hesitant now.

“It's your idol _finding love,_ ” Julian wheedled. “Don't you want to see them _happy?”_

Kai grinned. “Yeah, you're right! Even if I die it's so worth it. If they end up together I could be the one who could say, _I was the one who helped my role model find love!_ That'd be amazing!”

“Trust me, Kai,” Julian assured him. “If you were the one to do it, you'd be revered. You'd instantly be the coolest person in the squad. Everybody would love you.”

Perhaps Julian should have felt guilty looking at Kai’s delighted expression, but honestly, he was so low down the German totem pole of power, he had to get his kicks in somewhere.

 ***

_Private chat between Lukas Podolski and Bastian Schweinsteiger_

**Lukas:** hey my baby :) 

 **Lukas:** whatcha up to?

 **Lukas:** i'm so fucking excited for the international break man

 **Lukas:** like i always am but

 **Lukas:** lord i'm even more excited this time

 **Lukas:** things have been going so shit in london tbh

 **Lukas:** like i've been rotting on the bench

 **Lukas:** i've been feeling more depressed and stuff and it kind of sucks :(

 **Lukas:** harder to smile now tbh i've been trying to but shit's been happening which makes me think more and that's,, no good!

 **Lukas:** and i've been missing you so much it physically hurts me like it genuinely makes my heart ache

 **Lukas:** but you'll be in my arms soon! 

 **Lukas:** and we can have another week together!

 **Lukas:** and i'll eviscerate jogi if he even thinks about fuckin separating us with the rooming arrangements again

 **Lukas:** seriously the only medicine to all this aching is you

 **Lukas:** i won't let anyone get in the middle of us lol because lord knows ive waited long enough to see u :(

 **Lukas:** all those times i wanted to go to münchen but was too busy :(

 **Lukas:** seriously basti idek how i would've gotten through these weeks without having u to call and text and think about tho :)

 **Lukas:** i was looking through some of our photo albums from the world cups and they made me so happy !

 **Lukas:** i'll bring some of them over for the break eh? we can look through them together because there's sooo many good ones :)

**Lukas:**

**Lukas:** by all accounts this is a terrible picture of you but you're still beautiful :) 

 **Lukas:** basti, you there baby?

 **Lukas:** wow haha i didn't even realise how much i've been typing sorry

 **Lukas:** i'm guessing you're busy !

 **Lukas:** that's cool 

 **Lukas:** tetx me when you can ! 

 **Lukas:** i should stop spamming u lol

 **Lukas:** but then again i shouldn't bc my messages fill u with happiness :))

 **Lukas:** nah fr i'll leave you be now :)) 

 **Lukas:** love you!! <3 

 **Lukas:** text me when u can schatz! 

***

Thomas was in the middle of an incredibly suspensful episode of  _SOKO Leipzig_ when Manu stood in front of the TV and switched it off. 

"Hey- Manu!" he said in horror, as his boyfriend began to pace back and forth in front of the TV he had just turned off. "What the hell? I was in the middle of the bit where Hajo-"

"I'm in the middle of a panic attack!" Manu yelled at him. "There's more important things than an average crime show, Thommy, I'm having a crisis at the moment!"

Thomas had been about to say something cutting when he fully acknowledged what Manu had just said. And then his face softened, and he stood up, walking over to where Manu was now standing still, one hand over his face. 

"What happened?" he said, resting one hand on Manu's back. "Why are you in a crisis? Are you okay?"

"No!" Manu said. "I'm not! You need to help me, Thommy, I'm going to die. All I did was go to my chat with Miro to see the- the number of the therapist he gave me, and suddenly I couldn't breathe and my whole body went cold! What the hell, man! I was just going to  _call_ him and suddenly it was the most difficult, insurmountable challenge of my entire miserable fucking life!"

His voice was slipping into hysteria. Thomas began to rub his back. 

"Manu, Manu, breathe, calm down," he said steadily. "Before you do anything, just try and get yourself calm again, you're not going to get anything productive done in this state-"

"Oh, no, Thomas,  _really?_ " Manu spat. "I thought I was on the top of the world at the moment-!"

"Okay, okay!" Thomas said hastily. "Let's try and conserve some of that angry energy and put it into relaxing. Just breathe, honey. You'll be okay."

"Liar!" Manu said in a choked voice. "You're a fucking liar!" 

Thomas just continued rubbing his back, murmuring under his breath. Manu was shaking from head to toe, his phone clutched in his hand- Thomas thought it was going to be crushed in his hand, with how tightly he was squeezing it. It took Manu a long time to him to finally fall still again, his body's tension loosening somewhat. 

"Fuck me," Manu muttered, when Thomas thought he had calmed down. "Fuck me, Thommy! Why am I such a crisis? This fucking phone number was meant to solve everything, not make me want to break my phone into pieces and never speak again!" 

"I told you, Manu," Thomas said steadily. "Setbacks happen. We can deal with this."

"Help me, Thommy," Manu pleaded. "Help me make this phone call. I can't do it by myself. I'll end up smashing my phone if I do. I just need to get this out of the way."

"Of course," Thomas said firmly. "I should've been there for you when you were trying to phone him in the first place. Look, let's sit down, okay? We can dial him and you'll know I'm right here next to you."

He guided Manu over to the sofa. His boyfriend still looked like he was seriously contemplating escape, but Thomas sat him down before he could break away and make a run for it. Thomas gently took the hand that Manu had his phone in and saw that the screen was showing a contact page, with the name of the contact being,  _Miro Therapist Hugo Becker._

"The fuck do I say?" Manu said, as he held onto his phone more tightly. " _Hello, Mr Becker, I'm Manuel Neuer, German national team goalkeeper, and I have bad dreams?_ "

"Don't make light of it," Thomas said sharply. "Say that you got the number from Miro, and tell him that you want to see if you can start sessions with him. And tell him about the problem. You said that Miro said this guy won't say a word about anything, so make sure you don't try and hold things back because you're scared about what he'll think. Remember, he's a therapist, so he would have dealt with a lot of things."

Manu stared down at his phone screen, and then he nodded jerkily. "Okay. Okay. Fuck it. I'm doing it. I'm hitting that call button. I am  _not_ a fucking pussy."

"You're doing it straight away?" Thomas said in surprise. "Don't you want to run over what you're going to say-?"

"No, no, no!" Manu said agitatedly. "I just have to get it out of the way. The more I think about it the more I won't want to fucking do it. I'm calling him now and winging it. If he's really dealt with a lot of things, he won't blink twice at an awkward phone call."

He hit the call button before Thomas could say anything else, and put the phone to his ear. His heart was racing inordinately fast for the magnitude of what he was actually doing.  _It's a therapist. His job is to deal with people who are fucked up. You aren't damning yourself._

_Ring... ring... ring..._

_God, please pick up,_ he silently pleaded.  _Please. If you don't you'll give me more time to think, and more time to decide not to do this at all._

There was a click. Manu's whole body tensed at the tiny sound. 

"Hello, is this Hugo Becker?" he said, before the speaker at the other end could even draw a breath. He was speaking so fast the words tripped over his tongue and barely sounded coherent. "The private psychotherapist?" 

"Hello, there," a soft voice came through the line. "This is indeed Hugo Becker. I am assuming that this is Manuel Neuer?"

Manu's heart stopped so abruptly that he genuinely thought his body's nervous system had collapsed in shock.  _The therapist knew his name! He was a psychic! He was rooting through Manu's mind right now, and he knew everything!_

 _Manu?_ Thomas mouthed, looking puzzled. 

"Are you still there?" Hugo's gentle voice asked. 

Manu stumbled over his own thoughts before stammering out, "How do you know it's me?"

There was a chuckle. "Well, I've become quite acquainted with your voice, having heard it in post-match interviews and adverts for many years. And Miroslav Klose called me a few days ago to inform me that you might be calling." 

Relief flooded through Manu's body, and he stopped panicking that the therapist was reading his mind. 

"Oh," he said, actually exhaling. "That's... That makes sense."

"I hope I didn't worry you," Hugo said. 

"No," Manu said. "You didn't worry me. I was just... a bit confused."

"That's good to know," Hugo said quietly. "So, Herr Neuer, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"

The man sounded so calm, as if goalkeepers called him up every day to panic over the line and suspect that he was a mind-reader. Manu swallowed, his throat dry, and held out his hand to Thomas. Thomas took it at once, his thumb beginning to trace circles across Manu's skin soothingly. 

"I..." Manu said hesitantly. "I- I- well-"

He squeezed Thomas's hand as if it was a stress ball. Thomas continued to stroke his hand. 

"I just wanted to call about... about..." Manu couldn't think straight whatsoever. "Therapy." 

"I see," Hugo said mildly. He didn't sound impatient whatsoever. "You can take some time to sort through your thoughts if you want, Herr Neuer. If you're finding it a little difficult to speak at the moment."

"Manu," Manu said abruptly. 

"Pardon?" 

"Manu," Manu repeated. "Y-You don't have to call me 'Herr Neuer'. You can just call me Manu." 

"Okay, then, Manu," Hugo said. "Why do you want to seek therapy? You don't have to give me a reason now, if you can't. We can arrange something without me knowing the full details, if it's difficult to formulate your thoughts in this sort of environment."

"I-" Manu said once more. He really was saying a whole lot of  _nothing_ at the moment, but he couldn't help it, his brain felt fried. "I'm sorry, Herr Becker. I can say it now."

"Hugo. And take your time."

"Hugo," Manu repeated, squeezing Thomas's hand again. "Hugo. I- I don't really know where to start, or how much I need to say."

"Say whatever you want to say." 

 _God. What sort of advice was that?  He didn't_ want _to say anything. He_ had  _to._

"I..."  _Why did he keep saying I, for fuck's sake?_ "I... I suffer from nightmares."

Silence. Hugo was evidently waiting for Manu to continue. 

"I suffer from nightmares," Manu repeated lamely. "Bad ones. Nearly every night."

"How long have you been dealing with these nightmares for, Manu? And what made you finally decide to seek therapy for them?"

Manu thought long and hard about this, but he couldn't think of a cohesive answer to this. 

"I don't know," he said in a small voice. "I don't remember. But I finally decided to start looking for help because... They're starting to heavily impact my life now. More and more. And they're getting worse. And I don't think I can handle them alone anymore."

More silence. Thomas' expression was neutral, even though Manu was unintentionally crushing his hand painfully. 

"I see," Hugo said. "And I suppose it goes without saying, but you've called for therapy because you want to talk about these nightmares?" 

"Yes. Yes," was all Manu could say. "I want to talk about them."

More silence. Then:

"Manu, I'm glad you've taken the step in seeking professional help for your issue," Hugo said finally. "In my time as a psychologist, I've been well aware of the fact that high-profile figures find it far more difficult to step forwards and speak out about the problems they suffer. Professional sports in particular do not have an atmosphere that encourages healthy acknowledgment of these issues."

Manu didn't really have anything useful to say in response to this, so he just stayed silent. 

"I can sense that now is not the right time to delve in deeper to these problems. It might end up stressing you and making you feel as though you have to get everything out at once. But that's unnecessary. What we can do from here is arrange to see each other for an appointment, where hopefully you will be in the mindset to speak comfortably," Hugo said quietly. "I imagine you have a busy schedule, and so you might not even know when you want to have this appointment. It will probably take advanced planning. So do not feel compelled to try and decide everything at this moment. You can think about it for as long as you want. And if you want to call again and make your decision, you are always welcome. If you want to make a decision now, you are welcome also." 

 "Yes," Manu said quickly. "I mean, I will make a decision, but right now... Isn't the right time. It's the international break soon, and my time will be absorbed in the games and all my football responsibilities. But after the international break I'll be able to make arrangements for an appointment more easily. I think that'd be the best way to go about things."

"If that is how you want to do things, then it's absolutely fine," Hugo said. "I understand you're a busy man with lots of priorities. I do hope you remember your mental health is one of them."

"I... I will."

"You can call me when you wish. I will give you the details you need and hopefully I will be able to accommodate you to the best of my abilities." 

"Yes. Thank you. Thank you."

"It's quite alright. Thank you to you too. For having the courage to call when it must be difficult, and for having recognised that you needed help. It's not an easy thing to do, Manu. A great many people would have chosen to suffer in silence over helping themselves out of fear."

"I was close to doing that," Manu admitted. "But... I had people who wouldn't let me. People who fight for me harder than I fight for myself."

His eyes travelled to Thomas, and Thomas smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i.. i hope this was good? i don't really vibe with the sami and gigi bit??? and the manu bit?? am i just being needlessly self-conscious again?
> 
> i'm so glad i started writing this, though, and i've gotten to interact with u lovely people!!! ur all so great and i wish i could get to know u better!!! im hoping this year is better than the last!!! and i hope the same for all of you!!! all my love!!! 
> 
> thanks for reading!!! <33333


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus jeder!!! wie geht's? i am back once more with another chapter! god i want to play a real game of football again, not a five-aside in the park with my friends on my team missing open goals. and having them get angry when i save their shots :P 
> 
> this is chapter 45!!! jesus fuck!!! another dedication!  
> this one is to Stardustthatisfallingdown! your comments are so funny and nice and as always it's great to talk to a fellow bayern fan!!! 
> 
> also 200 000 words of pure fucking nonsense!!! jesus!!! wow!!! how did i even do it????
> 
> i hope you guys enjoy!

_Private chat between Bastian Schweinsteiger and Lukas Podolski_

**Basti:** oh lukas my love

 **Basti:** i'm so sorry :((

 **Basti:** i didn't want to ignore you yesterday but i was just in such a bad frame of mind

 **Basti:** i saw your texts and i literally just burst into tears :( 

 **Basti:** but i love you i love you and i can't wait to see you too and let's make it a double job and kill  marco too bc if jogi tries to separate us it'll absolutely be his fault

 **Basti:** and i'm sorry that you're feeling depressed tell me everything i'm here to listen

 **Basti:** and and yes omg bring the photo albums!!!! we need to look through those and oh my god you violated me so much with the number of fucking awful pics you've taken of me lukas podolski i've only ever taken beautiful ones of u

 **Lukas:** basti!!!!! you replied!!

 **Lukas:** and oh baby :((( i'm sorry for like, making u feel worse?? i didn't mean to

 **Lukas:** and lord all of that baggage is something i'll need to explain to u in person cos i'll j make myself more depressed talking about it now while i'm still alone

 **Lukas:** but yes i will happily murder marco because he is literally an inconvenience and hehehe you're beautiful but not photogenic and i'm ugly but photogenic! 

 **Basti:** U G L Y?

 **Basti:** do not even try to test me lukas podolski you are quite possibly the most gorgeous man i've ever laid my poor eyes on

 **Basti:** and NO NO NO NO!!

 **Basti:** don't apologise for shit luki, it wasn't ur fault at all, i was j being stupidly overemotional like i am normally :)

 **Basti:** ah luki, we've got a lot of talking to do i guess

 **Lukas:** for sure <3

 **Lukas:** just about everything

 **Lukas:** we can escape from the idiots and have a full heart 2 heart

 **Lukas:** i live for these weeks 

 **Basti:** hi i'd like to order,, one dose of tears

 **Lukas:** aw basti no don't cry :(

 **Lukas:** this year should be good!!

 **Lukas:** b/c the prem is FINALLY HAVING A WINTER BREAK!!!

 **Lukas:** so we can spend the whooole winter together

 **Basti:** oh my god i actually forgot about that

 **Basti:**  fuck,, that is music to my ears

 **Basti:** we can celebrate weihnachten and neue jahr together!!!! 

 **Basti:** i can't wait i can't wait i can't wait fYUCK

 **Basti:** it's so short and yet so far away

 **Lukas:** ikr there are things i'm dying to tell you too

 **Lukas:** im meant to keep them secret but lord i just can't not tell u you don't have a big mouth anyway

 **Basti:** omg what

 **Basti:** tell me

 **Lukas:** i cANT tell you now

 **Lukas:** i will tell u in the break :)

 **Basti:** lukas,,,

 **Basti:** do you just want me to fucking die???

 **Basti:** you know i can't stand waiting

 **Lukas:** trust me it'll be worth hearing a proper explanation

 **Lukas:** it is not that long !

 **Basti:** Lukas.

 **Lukas:** Bastian.

 **Basti:** i will die.

 **Lukas:** not long left basti you'll survive

 **Lukas:** god i shouldn't have told you now should i

 **Lukas:** now ur gonna be pestering me every second of the day

 **Basti:** right on the money!

 **Basti:** tell me.

 **Lukas:** no !

 **Basti:** tell me.

 **Lukas:** nein !

 **Basti:** TELL ME

 **Lukas:** oh ok fine i'll tell you-

 **Basti:** OMG OK WHAT IS IT

 **Lukas:** -absolutely nothing. you're going to have to wait.

 **Basti:** AUF WIEDERSEHEN SIND WIR FERTIG

 **Lukas:** see you ;)

 **Lukas:** i looove youuu :) 

 **Lukas:** can't wait to TALK to you this break ! :)

**Basti:**

**Lukas:**

***

Jerome and Robert were busy packing their things for the international break when Robert had a sudden realisation and spoke up.

"You know what you haven't talked to me about in ages, Jeri?" he said thoughtfully, as Jerome transferred half the contents of his wardrobe into his suitcase, being sure not to crease his favourite Gucci shirt (it had cost so much to get the coffee stain from last time out of it). 

"What?" Jerome asked, carefully folding up his clothes. Robert might be a slob who didn't care much about how his clothes looked, but Jerome would die for fashion and would die if something happened to _his_ fashion.

"Du bist so pedantisch," Robert sighed, as he watched how Jerome handled his clothes with military precision. "And, well, seeing as it's the international break coming up, I thought I'd be hearing about this whole Mesut and Sami situation once every few hours."

Jerome burst out laughing. "Shit, yeah, you're right. I guess I've just been preoccupied with other stuff that I completely forgot to update you. In true Mesami fashion, it seems like they take a step forwards every day but around three leaps backwards at the same time."

"Still oblivious?" Robert asked, tossing some shirts into his suitcase. Jerome gave him a disbelieving look. 

"Why are you asking that as if you expected there to be a possibility where they  _weren't_ oblivious?" Jerome asked. "Of course they're oblivious. They come  _this_ close to confessing their love every day and then Sami somehow manages to get away with his bullshit and Mesut lives on, none the wiser. Totale Idioten."

"I hope you guys aren't trying to interfere with things," Robert said severely. Jerome sighed.

"I don't get why you're still on the  _let them find love their own way_ train. That thing went off a mountain along with their dignity ages ago," he said impatiently. "At this point, we  _need_ to step in, or they'll be stuck in fucking limbo forever."

"Jeri!" Robert said disapprovingly. "You can't just breach their boundaries  _for_ them."

"We have to!" Jerome said. "If we don't, they'll probably die without saying a thing to each other."

" _We_ managed to get together without anyone interfering."

"Yeah, but I knew I loved you almost as soon as I started having those feelings," Jerome said dismissively. "I wasn't a fucking blind idiot. Plus, people still had to push me into talking to you. Even when we push Sami he still doesn't understand a fucking thing, the clown. He still doesn't get why he gets so jealous at Giroud. Oh God, that reminds me-"

Jerome was seized with mirth so suddenly he tripped over Robert's suitcase and landed flat on his face on the floor. 

Robert roared with laughter as Jerome just lay still, not wanting to face the world for a few moments. Eventually Robert had to pull him to his feet, still snorting as Jerome gave him a filthy look, his repertoire of Coke Zero quotes immediately on the tip of his tongue. After several moments of serious verbal abuse, Robert had sobered up appropriately and Jerome could tell his story again. 

"So, you know the kid, Havertz, from Leverkusen?" he said, as if nothing had happened, and Robert sulkily stomped off to continue packing his things. "The twinkle-toed one who's always fidgeting?"

"Yeah. Little idiot nutmegged me during a corner," Robert said, looking even more moody at the memory. "Said, 'Sorry, Mr Lewandowski!' afterwards, as if that made it better. What about him?"

"He's sweet. Anyway, he got called up to the senior team for the first time, and Thomas added him to the group chat. Obviously he's just some excitable kid who has no idea about anything, so guess who he starts gushing about and saying he's  _so gay_ for?" 

"Let me guess," Robert said, starting to grin. "Giroud?"

"Giroud!" Jerome cackled. "Everyone lost their shit. And then Mesut chimes in to say, 'oh, apparently you're not the only one to feel that way'. You could sense the tsunami wave of pettiness from Sami coming through the network. He didn't even say anything, but we all _knew._ It was like the time Mesut posted that selfie with him and Sami got so pissed for literally no reason. Ah, that poor kid absolutely signed his own death sentence. Sami already hates him. He's  _so jealous,_ you don't even understand."

"What even  _is_ there to get so jealous about?" Robert snorted. "Giroud isn't all that. He's not a great goalscorer, Idon't think he's _that_ good looking either."

Jerome froze in the midst of putting a pair of trainers away, and slowly turned to look at Robert. "Are  _you_ getting jealous of Giroud?" 

Robert's eyes widened. "No! Why would I be jealous of Giroud? I don't care about him." 

"So if I told you how  _beautiful_ Giroud was, you wouldn't care?" Jerome said slyly.

"Wouldn't bat an eyelid," Robert said, although his eye twitched a bit. 

"His accent is to die for," Jerome continued. 

"Okay. Die for it," Robert intoned, folding his arms.

"His link-up play is better than yours." 

Robert exploded.

" _Oh my God do you want death Jeri? Because if you do I can provide it for you! How could you even say that his link-up play is better than mine oh my God I'm literally the machine of this team and my movements have resulted in so many goals for us-_ "

Jerome grinned.

"WAHEYYY!" he yelled through cupped hands, when Robert had finished giving an account about the many different ways his link-up play had led to amazing chances on the pitch. "Bait the hook and the fish will bite, eh? Who's not jealous?"

"Not  _me,_ " Robert said crossly, crossing his arms tightly. "You just hurt my feelings when you said that statement which was factually incorrect on literally every acccount-"

"If you weren't jealous you would've realise I was pulling your pisser," Jerome said, winking. "You  _always_ get jealous. You got jealous when I was complimenting Basti's cooking-"

"I did not, I was just  _remarking_ about the way you always seem to go on about-"

"You got jealous when I said that Rakitic's volley was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen and tried to score one in training and ended up on your ass-"

"Do not  _test_ me, Boateng, that  _never_ happened-" 

" _And_ you get jealous because everyone compliments Giroud!" Jerome finished. "You're just on Sami's wavelength, the two of you should totally talk."

"Yeah, well  _you_ should talk to a- a fucking skydiver, because, because they always end up on the ground! Just- Just like Messi made you fall to the ground!" 

"I BATTERED HIM 7-0 ON AGGREGRATE AND WON THE WORLD CUP AGAINST HIM!" Jerome yelled, pointing at Robert. "YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NOTHING AGAINST ME, LEWANDOWSKI, I'VE BEEN  MORE  _REJUVENATED_ AGAINST HIM IN THREE GAMES THAN YOU'LL EVER BE IN YOUR LIFE!"

Robert scowled. 

***

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Marco:**  everyone,

 **Mats:** shut up

 **Marco:** score a header

 **Mats:** win the bundesliga

 **Marco:** win a champions league semi final against real madrid

 **Mats:** win the champions league final against us

 **Marco:** you lost the champions league final when you were with US you absolute CUNT

 **Toni:** Have a three year winning streak

 **Marco:** don't concede 5 against your main rival

 **Toni:** Why do I still open this group chat.

 **Fips:** Dear God, I can already feel my blood pressure increasing.

 **Fips:**  

**Marco:** watch marco miss that header vs us

 **Fips:** I'll watch Arjen score the winning goal of 2013 instead.

 **Kai:** that was so cool!!! 

 **Marco:** you know what else is cool havertz?

 **Kai:** oo what?

 **Marco:** the fact that leverkusen couldn't get 3 points against hannover

 **Kai:** :o 

 **Julian B:** you lost 3 points against fortuna reus u fucking rusty spanner

 **Thomas:** that's the spirit everyone

 **Thomas:** this man will be absolutely delighted 

**Thomas:**

****

**Mario Gom:** He'd BETTER be delighted by the end of this all

 **Mario Gom:** Bc I need a fucking win

 **Mario Gom:** Stuttgart makes me want to die

 **Mario Gom:** In a pit of fire

 **Miro:** You wlil be fine

 **Miro:** YOu will probably score !

 **Mario Gom:** Thanks Miro!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Jerome:** hmmm

 **Jonas:** I am so excited to see everyone again!! 

 **Julian D:** You make my life better Jonas

 **Joshua:** i'm going to hug you so hard you don't even know ,, harder than i'll hug julian 

 **Jonas:** Thank you guys!!! :)) 

 **Jonas:** I'm looking forward to seeing you too!

 **Toni:** Yeah it'll be nice to see you Jonas

 **Toni:** Probably the only person on the team I feel is acceptable

 **Jonas:** Wow thank you Toni!!! :)

 **Jerome:** jesus that coming from toni is like i love you well done jonas 

 **Toni:** Fuck off the only reason he's the only one who's acceptable is because you're going to be pining about Lewandowski the whole break and everyone else are just fucking degenerates

 **Jerome:** don't fucking remind me ok. do you think i want you to be with YOU for a week instead of him?

 **Toni:** It'd probably do you some good you overly dependent overdramatic GAY

**Jerome:**

**Jerome:** you'll find love one day toni, don't cry <3

 **Toni:** If being in love is acting like you fucking reprobates I'm happy being miserably single 

 **Thomas:** speaking of being in love

 **Thomas:** my life will literally be complete once jonas is here again <3

 **Miro:** What about me 

 **Thomas:** what about you?

 **Miro:** :(

 **Thomas:** go to STUTTGART again instead of coming to see ME FIRST miro

 **Miro:** :( 

 **Thomas:** >:(

 **Miro:** :)

 **Thomas:** >:(

 **Mesut:** i'd rather go to stuttgart than see you bastards again

 **Mario Gom:** No you wouldn't.

 **Mesut:** this team makes me depressed

 **Kai:** but we get to face off france this break!!! and olivier giroud is there!!! and we'll get to see him!!!

_Private chat between Kai Havertz and Julian Brandt_

**Kai:** like that jule???

 **Julian B:** perfekt ;)

 **Kai:** :D

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Thomas:** fills you with an all-encompassing joy, huh? surely that must.

 **Leon:** that is personally all i need to die feeling fulfilled,

 **Benni:** I thought moving to Bayern was meant to make you feel that?

 **Leon:** giroud is better 

 **Mesut:** hmm yeah i guess that's true, one bright spot doesn't flood out the darkness tho

 **Mesut:** the malevolent, encroaching darkness that consumes all

 **Mesut:** the darkness that cannot be driven away

 **Marco:** arsenal's list of away fixtures?

 **Mesut:** see. right there. that's what i'm talking about.

 **Fips:** Personally, Mesut, I share your sentiment.

 **Fips:** But I do have something to say to you.

 **Fips:** Stop being such a fucking pussy.

 **Fips:** I have to captain this team. I assure you...

 **Fips:** I am more depressed than you.

 **Marco:** not as depressed as hummels was when he missed the clearance that led to bayern conceding in der klassiker

 **Mats:** ♪just you wait♪

***

Bernd was staring down at his suitcase when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn't move from the spot for a second, he was so lost in his thoughts.

He would be returning to London soon, before heading off to the international break. This was the reason he didn't feel particularly  _sad_ about leaving Barcelona, because he was going to see Marc-Andre for the international break literally the day afterwards. But he was still feeling a complicated tangle of emotions in his chest, and thoughts he had tried to suppress kept popping up in cracks in the bubble he had placed over  _that_ part of his mind.

Marc-Andre hadn't seemed all too bothered by Bernd's departure from Barcelona. He had just taken Bernd's hands and told him they would get another week where they were going to get to play together. Bernd wondered if he had selective amnesia- the man was acting like it'd be a holiday when really it'd be a couple of weeks of intense anxiety. On the positive side, however, at least they would be together for it... Before-

His phone buzzed again. Bernd decided to check who it was. As he turned his screen on, he was surprised to see it was a message from Julian Brandt.

_Private chat between Julian Brandt and Bernd Leno_

**Julian B:** hey ASSHOLE

 **Julian B:** bernd u cunt answer me

These two messages either had a malevolent energy or a casual one, but over text, it was difficult to sense which one it was.

 **Bernd:** uhh

 **Bernd:**?hello¿

 **Julian B:** oh so ur fucking responding are u?

Bernd blinked. Probably malevolent.

 **Bernd:** uhh yeah i am sorry i've been busy but i'm sensing...

 **Bernd:** anger??

 **Bernd:** all ok jule?

 **Julian B:** oh you've been busy have you?

 **Julian B:** doing what??

 **Bernd:** i've just had things to do omg

 **Julian B:** so u haven't had time to send a single solitary text??

 **Julian B:** and u didn't think to say you'd been called up either??

 **Julian B:** because u were clearly so busy when u texted the group chat the other day

 **Bernd:** wow ok

 **Bernd:** look im sorry ive had things on my mind im sorry i havent been messaging

 **Bernd:** but why are u so mad 

 **Julian B:** because you're being an asshole

 **Julian B:** did u even say a word of congratulations to kai?

 **Julian B:** he got called up! and you didn't even say anything to him

 **Julian B:** and he's been so excited too and he's been messaging you but with no response

 **Julian B:** and hes still so happy hes gonna see you again even tho u dont even talk to him anymore 

 **Julian B:** you don't even know how sad he was when you left and you act like he doesn't even matter to u

 **Bernd:** ok i understand why that makes you mad

 **Bernd:** im sorry, i didn't even mean to act like that

 **Bernd:** i swear i've just been so caught up with everything kai does matter a lot to me

 **Bernd:** i've barely even talked to anyone recently i promise

 **Julian B:** y

 **Julian B:** what's been happening with you

 **Julian B:** how comes uve all of a sudden just been called up

 **Julian B:** why are you being so mysterious

 **Bernd:** i'm not

 **Bernd:** and it's some stuff that's kind of personal so i don't really want to say

 **Bernd:** it's not that deep jule don't worry

 **Julian B:**  whatever

 **Julian B:**  i don't careif u don't want to tell me anything do what u want

 **Julian B:** but you'd better fucking talk to kai because i don't want him getting sad bc u keep ignoring him

 **Bernd:** ok i'll talk to him now

 **Bernd:** seriously jule i'm sorry

There was no further response from Julian. Bernd felt a little set upon by the sudden aggression, but he supposed he deserved it somewhat. His preoccupation with Marc-Andre had caused a lot of people unintentional strain over the years. He felt really bad. He immediately went to his private chat with Kai, and felt another pang of guilt as he saw a string of messages from the boy, ending in profuse apologies for bothering him, and a promise that he would stop texting for now.

_Private chat between Bernd Leno and Kai Havertz_

**Bernd:** hey, kid!

 **Bernd:** man i'm so so sorry i've not been messaging you

 **Bernd:** shit's just been so bonkers recently

 **Bernd:** i didn't even remember to congratulate you for ur first callup jesus

 **Bernd:** im sorry but man fuck well done you deserve it you've been doing so well i watched the match where you bamboozled timo with that flick amazing stuff :) 

 **Bernd:** again i'm sorry but we can talk more during the international break! because i'm coming too!

 **Kai:** OMG BERND!!! AAA HIII!!!

 **Kai:** it's a-okay!!! u don't need to apologise!! I'M sorry for texting so much i didn't even think that u might be busy and i feel like i was being really annoying!!! but it's cool!!! u don't even have to talk to me or feel bad about it bc ur busy with all ur stuff im not even important!!!

 **Kai:** but thank you oooomggggg when jogi called i died on the spot i evaporated i was so scared at first bc i wa slike AAAA HE HAS MY NUMBER WHERE DID HE GET IT FROM THIS IS A HOAX

 **Kai:** and AAAAAAA i'm so happy you got called up and i can't wait to see u agaain!!! and we can talk again if u want totalk to me that's gonna be soooo cool!!

Bernd felt even worse.

 **Bernd:** no kai don't apologise it's not ur fault and you weren't being annoying at all i was just so preoccupied that i literally didn't respond to anyone and you are important! and of course i want to talk to u you're really important to me

 **Kai:** for real??

 **Bernd:** for the realest of the real you goofy sardine you're still one of my closest friends 

 **Bernd:** honestly how could u think you're not important to me after all we've gone through !

 **Kai:** wow omg,,, thank you im screaming aaaa i'm sorry i just thought t hat times are changing and ur at a new club and im just a stupid kid but now uve said that i feel so like warm thats Crazy ! you are so Important too !! 

 **Kai:** and and, are you okay??? why are u super busy??? is everything like going fine??

 **Bernd:** i'm fine really, just hectic stuff like it's to do with the club and some personal stuff i promise i'm fine :)

 **Bernd:** and i'll be able to talk to you way more now things have settled down

 **Kai:** cool!! i dont want to make u feel like,, pressured into talking to me tho !!!!!!!!! if ur busy u can take ur time !!

 **Bernd:** kai

 **Kai:** yes !

 **Bernd:** i WANT to talk to you you foolish coconut

 **Kai:** :D

 **Kai:** cooooool!!!

 **Kai:** ok omg !

 **Kai:** can i talk to you about my Big Crush???

 **Bernd:** ofc you can fanboy about giroud you don't need to ask 

 **Bernd:** just give me like half an hour ok?? i just want to get my packing done and everything and i'll talk to u righhht after

He snapped a picture of his disaster zone of a suitcase and sent it to Kai to show him  _why_ he needed half an hour.

 **Kai:** woooowwww messier than me and my mutter says I'M disorganised !!

 **Kai:** that's cool cool just text me whenever u want u can even text me tomorrow if u want!!  

 **Bernd:** i will text you TODAY in a BIT you sardine

 **Kai:** cool!! :D

Bernd smiled and turned off his phone again, stowing it in his pocket. He was being serious. He really did need to have a long conversation with Kai again, not only to reassure the poor boy that he cared, but because Bernd viewed him as a little brother, and loved talking to him. Now he and Marc-Andre had... made amends, he could stop feeling so consumed all the time, and start living more freely again.

Marc-Andre arrived in the room a moment after he thought this.

"Are you  _still_ not fucking finished?" the Barcelona keeper asked uncharitably, just as Bernd had smiled warmly at him. "The hell have you been doing all this time?"

"Look at this shit!" Bernd protested, pointing at his messy luggage. "It doesn't take five minutes to pack  _that_ all up, asshole. You could help me, you know, instead of doing fuck-all then complaining that I'm taking so long."

"It's not  _my_ luggage, is it?" Marc-Andre said, walking straight through the mess without a care in the world and throwing himself onto his bed. "You should be able to pack up your own shit without me holding your hand. How did it even get that messed up? You haven't even stayed for that long."

Bernd honestly didn't really know. It  _might_  have had something to do with the last-minute freakout he had had where he had tipped the entire contents of his suitcase onto the floor and then had to quickly gather it all back up again. But he didn't want to tell Marc-Andre  _that._

"Your _clean sheets_ don't stay for that long," he said, after a moment of indecision. 

"Yeah, okay, Leno the wall, Arsenal are clearly known for their runs of not conceding goals-" 

"Okay, ter Stegen, cool, because Barcelona's defensive depth is definitely fraught and you're their sole saviour, especially with the likes of only _Pique_  and  _Umtiti_ in front of you-"

"Your  _mother_ is in front of me-"

" _Ruhe_ , you big dickhead," Bernd chuckled, seizing Marc-Andre's hands and pulling him abruptly to his feet. Marc-Andre looked startled and laughed as he almost fell over the scattered contents of Bernd's luggage on the floor, having to grab onto Bernd's arm for support. "Put that  _cutting_ tongue of yours away and help me pack my stuff, so  we can spend this evening doing something  _better._ " 

"Hmm..." Marc-Andre said, bright pink but also grinning churlishly. "Why don't I put my cutting tongue to a better use instead?"

He kissed Bernd. Bernd blinked in surprise at the confidence before closing his eyes and melting into the kiss. 

And then he drew away from Marc-Andre. 

"I need to pack," he said weakly, gesturing at the luggage. "And then I was going to talk to-"

"Me," Marc-Andre breathed. "Come on, Bernd. We won't have any peace after this, and less freedom to be this... close. After this we'll be ducking out of sight from those fucking buffoons in Germany."

This was very true, and Bernd decided to agree with Marc-Andre pointedly by kissing him again.

"Fuck me, this seems so simple right now," Bernd said, when they pulled apart again. "Can't we just stay here forever? It's going to get so much harder for us."

"We've faced worse," Marc-Andre promised him, pulling him closer once more. "But for the time being, let's just forget about that and focus on what we've got now."

This seemed like a solid plan to Bernd. As he kissed Marc-Andre yet again, he hoped that Kai would be okay with waiting  _just_ a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah finally i can start the international break! had to wrap up this part of steno first with bernd leaving barcelona soon,,, and i'm extremely excited to start writing it!!! so much is incoming!! immm, hoping u guys found this ok??? it's kind of short tbh... 
> 
> i am absolutely including kai so much bc i love him and hes so sweet and,,,,, A R G H is the only comprehsnvie thing i have to say about him. i love including More Drama and julian brandt hasn't been included enough,,, uh can you see me being crushed by the weight of all these plotlines :)
> 
> i realised,,, we are 45 chapters in and yall dont know my name!! i'm elise hummel (not hummels ;))! i thought i'd introduce myself idk,, hi :) uhhh im 19 going on 20 in like 22 days and i live in münchen (cos i've clearly NEVER said that before) im a goalkeeper (ive clearly never said that either) and im a bayern supporter (that's like the most unknown fact to everyone ofc). if u want,,, tell me about u guys!! :)
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed !! love u all!


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 1!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus jeder! guess who's here to bless (or spoil) your day with another update? ur favourite (or least favourite) bitch, elise :) this is kinda a long chap
> 
> god it's weird putting the international break no.2 thing in there haven't done that in ages :P
> 
> again, refer to the golden rule of this fic for this chapter. i totally make up official processes bc i have acc have no real idea how international break procedure works, like all of them meeting up and shit i just wrote it in a way that would maximise D R A M A. the 2 international fixtures in this are AWAY so germany will go abroad yikes 
> 
> hope you enjoy!! <33

Benni's patience was, at the moment, being held together by a couple of threads of string-and was it wearing thinner by the second.

He should've expected this, in all honesty. The international break was a period in which the idea of peace was nothing but a distant dream, and a time when his boyfriend devolved slowly into nothing more than a small child competing against another small child for sheer destructive power. From the moment Mats had cracked his knuckles upon waking up and informed Benni  _he was so ready,_ Benni had come to the conclusion that today- or this week, to be more exact- was not going to be an experience which he would look back on fondly.

He was already feeling himself  _aging_ as he waited in the hallway of their house for Mats to get his shit together, because the taxi had just arrived outside. He actually gained white hairs, the longer he interacted with Mats and Marco. And that wasn't even an overexaggeration. Benni had once had a heart attack on the spot when he had been shaving and had noticed a solitary silver hair amongst the blond that had most certainly  _not_ been there before he had spent the day trying to stop Mats killing Marco for throwing his boots out of the coach window. No matter how much that Mats had tried to insist that the white hair hadn't been because of them, and that it was a normal part of aging, Benni  _knew_ that it was those two that were shortening his lifespan. He had also tried to smack Mats for suggesting that he was aging. He  _wasn't_ aging. He was fucking youthful and energetic and he  _didn't have lines on his forehead they were just frown lines because he spent all his time glowering at Mats-_

"MATS!" he yelled, finally snapping, as the taxi driver stuck his head out of the window to see what was taking them so long. "IF I GO UPSTAIRS AND FIND OUT YOU'RE DOING SOMETHING STUPID, YOU'D BETTER BELIEVE I'M TELLING REUS WHAT YOU DID IN SCHWABING LAST MONTH!"

There was an indignant squawk and then the sound of shuffling, then:

"I'M COMING, BENEDIKT!" Mats bellowed back. "STOP BEING SO IMPATIENT!"

"I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES! YOU SAID YOU WERE COMING DOWNSTAIRS TWENTY MINUTES AGO!" Benni hollered. 

"I'M HERE NOW, LOOK!" Mats appeared at the top of the staircase, scowling heavily down at Benni, who glared right back at him, sick of his shit- they hadn't even  _got_ to the training ground yet and he was  _already_ close to the edge. "I'm coming, you fucking donner kebab- AH!"

Mats had tripped over his suitcase and went tumbling down the last few steps. Benni tried very hard not to laugh derisively, but sometimes trying just wasn't enough. Mats picked himself up, ignoring Benni's helpful hand, grabbed a hold of his suitcase and stormed outside towards the taxi without a glance back. 

Benni grinned appreciatively at the universe for its helpful offering of karma, and went about making sure everything in the house was locked. He was going to miss this sanctuary, where he only had one absolute idiot to deal with- soon he was going to be in close quarters with a whole load of them. 

Mats was folding his arms and ignoring Benni as Benni told the taxi driver where they needed to go. Benni was perfectly fine with that, and reached into his bag to get his headphones, looking forward to a peaceful journey- but, unfortunately, his boyfriend began to speak.

"You should be on my side,  _Benedikt,_ " he said grouchily, slumped low in his seat like a child and spreading his legs out so wide it was just obnoxious. 

"Cry me a river," Benni said idly, scrolling through his Spotify playlist. 

Mats gave him an even filthier look which Benni blithely ignored, being well-acquainted with temper tantrums and having absolutely no interest in dealing with one from his boyfriend. Looking disgruntled that his sulkiness was going disregarded, Mats changed tactics and decided to employ a Marco classic- talking drivel.

"In all my years, Benedikt, I have never  _once_ turned from your side," he declared, pointing accusingly at Benni, pressing his finger right against Benni's nose. Benni's side-eye glare should've been enough to ward him off, but he was being moody, and so by extension he was also being audacious. "I've stood with you through everything. Yet somehow, despite it all, I still get the impression that I don't have your full loyalty in this battle against the malevolent force that is Reus." 

"Do you think, Mats, that it might because I'm not a being of limitless patience?" Benni asked sweetly. "Did you ever consider the fact that because of you, I too have to deal with Reus, who is not only a piece of Dortmund scum- literally, his club is already a knife in my side- but also the most annoying member of the German team? That I literally don't get a peaceful moment where my heart  _doesn't_ cave in because of you two? And that I had to deal with you when you were with Dortmund too, which was quite possibly worse?"

Mats considered this argument, and then he decided to ignore it anyway. "If you had an arch-enemy, I'd try and tear him down for you, I wouldn't leave  _you_ vulnerable to their attacks."

"Mats Julian Hummels," Benni said very slowly, making sure he enunciated each word. "Literally the  _only person_ in this team that tries to stop you two other than Fips is  _me._ _I_ was the one who poured his shaving cream into his boots after the events of...  _that_ dinner-" 

"You only did that because he made a Schalke joke-"

"And I _always_ stick up for you. How would it be, I wonder, if I  _really_ left you vulnerable to his advances this break? And  _didn't_ help you plan your counter-attack to the razor disaster?"

Mats looked horrified. "Oh, Benni, you wouldn't!"

"I most certainly  _would._ I have no idea why you think I wouldn't," Benni said gently. "And the look of panic on your face suggests to me that you know I'm right and that I  _am_ your biggest ally. Actually, more like your only fucking ally." 

"I never suggested you weren't!" Mats reassured Benni hastily, or rather blatantly contradicted himself. "Of course I know you're my biggest ally! But not my  _only_ ally, actually, Jerome is-"

"Jerome's a mercenary," Benni said dismissively. "He only joins the side he thinks he'll get the most gain from, because he's annoying like that." 

"Thomas-" 

"Is also a mercenary. Or even more against you, because of those Thomats challenges. And he's been really disconnected from this shit anyway, to be honest. Funnily enough, Thomas was one of the least annoying people last break," Benni said thoughtfully. "It's weird, usually the first international break has  _him_ being the rowdy coconut head. But he was pretty quiet last time."

Mats contemplated this. It was actually true. There had been far less idiotic Mülli antics than there usually were during the international break- in fact, had Fips even scolded him more than ten times? Manu had been  _weirdly_ out of things too. This strange trend had depleted somewhat in club training, however- Thomas seemed to have returned to his normal goofy self recently, and Manu had gone back to terrifying everybody again with his yelling, which seemed to have increased in Mats' direction. 

"Well, let's see if I can recruit him to my side this time," Mats said confidently. "And Jerome, Marco can't resist insulting Robert so I think Jerome would come to my side over his. I just have to come up with something that'll  _shut_ Reus the hell up. Something show-stopping, speech-defying, something that'll silence his bitch ass and make him prostrate himself bef-" 

"You've got to have achievable aims if you want to win this war. Scoring a header is just too unrealistic, darling." 

Mats lunged for him. The two of them wrestled in the back seat for a good two minutes, with the taxi driver looking slightly bewildered from the front.

When Mats finally had to give up- Benni was just too strong- he refused to talk for the rest of the journey. Benni was so tickled by his own comment that he had to silently giggle to himself as he finally got to enjoy the rest of the ride in peace.

In  _another_ taxi, Marco and Mario were having a conversation that wasn't quite as hostile. In fact, Marco was positively beaming as he illustrated to Mario every way he was going to show Mats up.

"Hummels will miss a crucial clearance, but it'll be fine because Manu will save it- so then he'll get absolutely eviscerated _by_ Manu, and then this beautiful bastard over here will score right after that, so Manu will end up praising  _me_ while he cries," Marco declared, as Mario idly scrolled through Instagram. "I'll be the hero and Süle will end up starting the next match." 

"What about Benni?" Mario enquired, not looking up from his phone. Marco gave him a filthy look. 

"Are you out of your fucking mind? You think I want Höwedes to start?  _Höwedes?_ That Schalke scumbag should be kept away from the squad _,_ let alone be in the starting lineup. Höwedes is actually slightly  _worse_ than Hummels in my- no, actually, I can't say that. They're both equal to each other." 

"In that they  _both_ stopped you from scoring when you were playing against them?" 

" _Mario._ "

"I have a question!" Mario said, ignoring his boyfriend's furious expression. "If Benni and Mats were facing off each other in a game, and the result would decide the Bundesliga in either of their favours if they won, who would you root for?"

"Hummels. No question." 

Mario's eyebrows raised. "You'd root for  _Mats?_ "

"Some things are more important than the average, ugly, untalented dickhead, Mario. Herne-West are the greater evil in this situation. I would rather  _die_ than see Schalke win the Bundesliga. And _you_ would too." 

"Uh, I'll have to pass, thanks," Mario snorted. "I don't have  _quite_ as much venom towards them..."

He didn't notice the strangely frustrated look that Marco gave him- he was too absorbed in his phone. 

"Anyway," Mario continued, tapping idly at every post on his feed. "I honestly think Benni is the one you should be worrying about more. I mean, Benni is clearly the brains of that couple. I'm pretty sure any decent attack Mats has had against you has had him orchestrating it." 

Marco considered this carefully. "But most of the time he stays out of it because he can't be bothered. Although I want to see Höwedes get relegated down to the Regionnalliga, Hummels is an active menace and he  _needs_ to be humiliated." 

"And you find it hard to counter Benni," Mario filled in what was unspoken with a grin. "Mats is your easy option." 

"Absolutely fucking  _untrue,_ " Marco snapped. "Höwedes is  _easy_  for me to handle, butI just treat him like an ugly mole that you can't really get rid of- he's just something you have to live with. Plus, I actually sort of want him around so I can abuse him about his filthy club.  _Hummels,_ on the other hand, is a malignant tumour. You've got to  _attack_ him and get rid of him before he _spreads._ " 

"Okay, baby, sure," Mario sighed, knowing he couldn't really talk Marco out of this preoccupation. "Honestly, I thought ter Stegen and Leno were bad when I had to deal with them. All those fucking years on the youth team, the tournaments, they never ever gave it a rest. Every day they'd end up wrestling and getting laps in training. I thought things would be different when I got to the senior team, but I somehow ended up becoming the boyfriend of someone who's part of a  _worse_ pair." 

"You've got me to protect you from the filth, Mar, don't worry," Marco said soothingly. Mario sighed. "And, oh, God, Leno and ter Stegen!  I completely fucking forgot about those degenerates. Leno's coming for the international break! Can you imagine how fun this shit is going to be? Khedira and Özil and ter Stegen and Leno in the same place! Leno probably won't get a second on the pitch, too, so there'll be so much bitterness! Ah, no, wait, sorry.That was actually kind of a shitty thing to say." 

Mario blinked at the apology, but decided to address the main part of what Marco had said. "Yeah, they  _are_ going to be in the same place. And so don't you find it fucking weird that neither of them seemed to care about it? They barely said  _anything_ about it, and usually there's a big blowout." 

Marco shrugged. "Does it matter? Maybe they didn't say anything because they don't want us to make sexual tension jokes about them. But they can't hide forever."

Mario considered this as Marco cracked his knuckles, grinning, contemplating aloud about how fun the international break was going to be, and how he was going to make Benni and Mats pay. This was a fair point from Marco, funnily enough. But Mario had known those two idiots for a very long time, and Manu knew their goalkeeping feuds better than anyone- the two of them would have to investigate to find out more for sure. And what better time to do it than now?

***

Mario Gomez was so anxious he had actually surpassed nervous emotion and had now entered a state of total apathy. He was currently a shadow of his former self, drifting across the world without a sensation in his miserable wreck of a body. In fact, he even managed to vaguely smile at the taxi driver as he dragged his suitcases across the ground towards the training ground, trying his level best to ignore the cameras and fans milling around. The man smiled at him back, clearly thinking that it was a friendly gesture, but no, it decidedly wasn't. It was a smile of resignation. A smile that showed that there was nothing left in his head.

No amount of reassuring pep talks he gave himself made him feel better- mostly because a reassuring pep talk from  _him_ was him telling himself he was a fucking idiot who needed to stop being such a pussy. Tough love didn't work, but he had no source of real love to help him either. He was, for lack of a better word, _fucked._

No, actually, that was the perfect word for it. 

Fucking irony.

He wasn't expecting to be the first one at the training ground whatsoever when he entered, having tripped over his own suitcases at the entrance (God, that was going to get on camera, wasn't it?)- but, such was his luck, he  _was._

"Ah, Gomez." The look Jogi gave Mario as he approached the horde of German technical staff inside wasn't quite welcoming, but it wasn't hostile either- it was just resigned. The first one had arrived. "You're one of the first ones here. I haven't been informed of when the international idiots are arriving."

"Oh," Mario said comprehensively. "Do you know when the other German clubs are arriving?" 

"Bayern are on their way," Jogi sighed. "Unfortunately. I don't know about the rest. Really, you'd think we weren't a national football body with how fucking disorganised this whole procedure is. But you're one of the lucky ones, hm? You'll get some time to think before the buffoons all arrive and make such endeavours impossible."

"I _sure_ need more time to think," Mario said. Jogi nodded empathetically then turned around to talk to one of his assistants about something, leaving Mario by himself.

Lovely!

Mario decided the best thing to do was to just go and sit down on a bench and rot away. He pulled his phone out, scrolling through Instagram and Facebook whilst waiting for the other team members to arrive. In his head, he was running through all sorts of different plans for how he was going to handle shit this time. The one thing he always seemed to forget, however, was that when...  _everyone_ arrived, he usually felt _complete_ again, against all the odds.

But Mario didn't indulge in rational thought often, so. 

Surprisingly, he wasn't forced to wait that long until he received company. The next person who entered the training ground was Jonas, looking very pink in the face as he glanced behind him at where the press were milling around. Mario actually clapped his hands and leapt to his feet as Jonas approached, now smiling warmly- first shaking Jogi's hand, then all the staff's, and then turning to Mario and hugging him.

Jonas's arms were so warm around his waist and so comforting that Mario almost didn't want to let go. When he did, however, he felt warm inside again anyway looking at Jonas's beam. 

"It has been _too_   _long_  since I've seen you," Mario said, placing a hand on Jonas's shoulder and smiling genuinely at him. "How's  _life_ been, Jonas, you maniac, you?"

"Hah, it's been... well, I've been looking forward to the international break, is all I can really say," Jonas chuckled. "No, I'm only joking, I've been alright. We're back at first in the 2.Bundesliga table. How's life with you been, Mario, are you okay?"

_Jonas thought he was subtle, eh? He thought he could try and penetrate Mario's defences? What an amateur. If Mario could evade the best of the best, the most concerned and compassionate of them all, he could definitely evade Jonas. He was an elite at hiding._

"We're at a comfortable sixteenth in the Bundesliga, room for improvement!" Mario said wryly. "I, too, have been looking forward to the international break. Since the last one fucking ended."

Jonas laughed. "You'll be fine, Mario. You'll probably get a start, and you might end up scoring again!"

"Jonas. I thought you were meant to be nice?" Mario said. "Everyone got the wrong impression, eh?"

Jonas looked surprised. "Uhm... sorry?" 

"You can't get people's hopes up irrationally," Mario explained with a laugh. "It'll just end up disappointing me if you hype me up too much." 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" Jonas started, but Mario had to cut him off with a wave of the hand, cackling. 

"Oh, Jonas. Never change. Actually, no. You do need to change in some places, you apologise too much! I'm _kidding_ , you foolish coconut." Mario locked Jonas in an affectionate headlock and ruffled the defender's hair. "You are absolutely wonderful." 

Jonas went pink to the tips of his ears. "Th-Thanks. You're amazing too!" 

Mario waved an airy hand. "So, tell me everything. All about how you're doing, how Köln is doing. Is Terodde really the cheatcode of the 2.Bundesliga?"

The two of them moved over to the side as they started discussing football, a perfect way to take Mario's mind off of things (because he was a fucking genius at running away and nobody could tell him otherwise), while they waited for the others to arrive. 

***

In a car heading towards the training ground at that very moment, one Kai Havertz was currently bouncing up and down in his seat and peering out of the window eagerly as Julian Brandt silently feared the worst for his poor friend. He was sure that all his warnings had gone straight through one ear and right out of the other. 

"Jule, Jule, Jule!" Kai said excitedly, waving his hands around so much he accidentally hit Julian. "Oops, sorry! Oh, man, Jule! We're going to be at the training ground soon! And Bernd will be there! I'll get to talk to him again!" 

Julian looked at Kai a little warily. "Did he text you yesterday?" 

"Yeah! We talked about my big crush and he told me all about the new car he bought in London- a _Romeo._  And now we can talk in person!" Kai said with a beam. "I can't fucking believe this, I'm going to see Mesut Özil, and, and I'm gonna see Bernd and _Fips_ and Miroslav Klose and Toni Kroos and Thomas Müller and Manuel Neuer and everyone else, I'm going to die, Jule, save meee-" 

He pretended to die and slumped over sideways in his seat, dropping his head against Julian's shoulder. Julian leaned his head against Kai's.

"You've seen them all before, you know. Well, Thomas and Fips and Manu," Julian laughed. "And all the Bayern players too. You've  _played_ against them." 

"I know, I know, but I've never  _talked_ to them- well, apart from Thomas, he's so nice, he always smiles at me and pats my head and he used to say,  _you'll be with us soon enough, kid, can't wait to see you in a white shirt._ Herr Neue- I mean,  _Manu,_ he always looks at me like he wants to rip my head off, though. And Herr Lah- I mean,  _Fips!_ _Fips_ doesn't really pay me much attention. Not that I expected him to! Bayern don't really pay me attention either! No one does, really, but that's cool!"

"They will now," Julian assured him. 

"I hope so!" Kai said excitedly. "I hope they'll end up liking me!"

"You'll be fine," Julian said gently. "If you just... remember what I told you, honey." 

"I will!" Kai promised him, looking up at Julian from his shoulder with a bright grin. And then he blinked. "Wait. Which bit?"

"The bit about, well, not opening yourself up to evisceration by calling Jogi Mr Löw, having a comeback on the tip of your tongue at all times-" 

"Wait!" Kai said, cutting him off. "Wait, sorry, were you finished, you can finish off what you were saying-"

"I was finished," Julian sighed. 

He was going to hyperventilate if he sighed again, goddamn. 

He was only twenty two. He was too young. 

"Okay, cool!" Kai looked confused for a moment. "Wait. I forgot what I was going to say. Wait, no, I remember! If I can't call Jogi Mr Löw, what am I meant to call him?"

Julian looked at Kai until he was sure this wasn't a sarcastic question. 

"...Jogi," Julian said finally. "You call him Jogi." 

Kai shook his head vehemently, looking shocked. "I can't do that! Oh my God! I'm just an innocent kid, I don't have the courage to call him by his first name! But I can't  _not_ address him by anything, Jule, that'd be disrespectful! Oh my God, why didn't I think of this before? He's going to yell at me, isn't he? Just like Bosz did when I accidentally forgot to-"

"No, no, honey, he isn't going to yell at you," Julian promised, cutting through another Bosz spiel, as the boy pressed his hands to his cheeks, looking distressed. "Jogi doesn't do stuff like that. Seriously, Kai, you start worrying  _now,_ and it's about  _this?_ "

"What does that mean?" Kai gasped. "That I should be worried about something bigger? Ah!" 

"No, no, you don't have to worry about anything, you'll be fine," Julian amended himself hastily. God, Kai sure chose inconvenient times to start stressing out. It wouldn't do to make him more nervous now. "Seriously, I promise, you'll be great. Nobody will yell at you, everyone will love you, all of that."

"For real?" Kai asked nervously, now sitting upright again and bopping his leg up and down frantically. 

"For real," Julian said soothingly. "Just...  _remember_ some of the advice I gave you, and you'll be golden."

***

_"You'll be amazing."_

_Jerome had said those words over and over again many times before, solely because he felt like Robert forgot that sometimes. The Polish striker looked like he had thoroughly forgotten it now, his face a little white as he pressed his forehead against Jerome's and tried to absorb his good luck before he went off alone to face his fate._

_"I hope so," he whispered, forcing down the panic that had risen in him. "I fucking hope so."_

_"You don't hope it. You_ know  _it," Jerome murmured, kissing Robert gently. "I promise you, you'll bring Poland to the top. You won't face what you faced last time again. Robert Lewandowski never goes down without a fight."_

  _"Neither do you, my Jeri," Robert said, gripping the sides of Jerome's face and staring firmly into his eyes. "I love you. I'll be thinking of you the whole fucking time. I'll imagine that all the team are you so if I get a cross, it'll be a goal without question."_

_"That's one way to do things," Jerome chuckled, staring back into Robert's blue gaze. "But there's also another way to do it."_

_"What?" Robert breathed._

_"Believe in yourself." Jerome kissed Robert's nose. "You don't need to think of me. Think about what you want to win. About what you want to do for Poland. And that resolve will take you all the way."_

_Robert didn't quite seem to want to let go of him. "Jeri..."_

_"You're a winner, Robert Lewandowski. Don't you forget it. But don't you forget me either! I'll be cheering you on for the whole fucking time. You'd better update me on every moment of your training."_

_Robert nodded mutely._

_"And, baby? " Jerome whispered. Robert nodded again. "I'm_ _never, ever going to lose faith in you."_

"Jerome!" 

Jerome blinked out of his reverie, feeling as though his Rob had only just left, although it had been a couple of hours. He glared at the person who had distracted him from his thoughts- who else would it be but one Mats Hummels?

"Are you  _already_ pining?" Mats demanded, as they walked through the assembled paparazzos who wanted to get a shot of Bayern Munich's stars heading off to play for their country. "When it has not even been three hours?"

"Are you  _already_ being an annoying dickhead?" Jerome hissed back. "Oh, wait. Never mind. I don't know why I asked that." 

"Marc-Andre! Good to see you!" Mats said, pretending to crane his neck and look in the distance.

Jerome rolled his eyes and walked a little faster to get away from Mats. He joined Manu and Thomas. Unfortunately, Mats joined him a moment later. Jerome looked around for Benni, but the Schalke centre-back was busy thoroughly incinerating Leon with his words for a badly timed comment _about_ Schalke and wasn't there to save him.

"Jerome, I had something to ask you," Mats declared, slinging an arm around Jerome's shoulder. Jerome gave him a filthy look. "It's about Reus." 

Thomas cracked up laughing from where he was walking next to Manu. "Shit, I forgot he's going to be here with you too."

"Tell me your secret. I wish I could forget it," Mats said. 

"What about Reus?" Jerome asked, looking at Mats. "What'd you wanna ask?" 

Manu was suddenly looking rather foreboding. "I hope whatever it is isn't going to limit your  _focus_ during this international break, Hummels. We don't want any lapses of concentration during games again, do we?" 

Mats suddenly looked a lot less sure of himself. "Ahahahahaha actually you're spot on Manu Jerome I will tell you later." 

"Mm," Manu said, and Thomas grinned at Mats' visceral fear.

Jerome shrugged, not really caring either way. The Bayern group, Leon now in cinders and Mats being very careful not to say anything again, entered the training ground where Jonas and Mario were talking.

"Jonas!"

Upon their entrance, Thomas immediately dropped everything (Manu sighed) and raced over towards Jonas. The left-back looked very startled but happy as Thomas flung his arms around the man's neck in greeting. Mario blinked from where the two of them had been in a middle of a conversation.

"H-Hi, Thomas!" Jonas said shyly, patting Thomas' back as the forward gabbled about how much he had missed the Köln player and how he wished that Stuttgart could have gone down instead (Mario sighed). "It's really good to see you! And hi everyone!" 

Everyone took their turns to hug Jonas, with Mario staring them in disbelief. When Leon turned around after having hugged Jonas himself, he faked a double-take and clutched his heart.

"Oh, Gomez, you're here, are you?" he said. "Didn't notice you there, I was too busy being blinded by the sun."

He hugged Mario, and when he released him, announced that it hadn't been good as Jonas' hug.

Everyone took their turns hugging Mario after this, all of them making some sort of pointed comment, just to wind the Stuttgart striker up (but the man had heard far worse).  Jonas turned scarlet and looked very confused at every compliment sent his way.

When Thomas went to hug Mario, he gave the man a dirty look. 

"Miro isn't with you, huh?" he said malevolently. "Guess your little boyfriend didn't decide you were better than me this time,  _huh?_ " 

Mario blinked three times. 

"He's  _still_ not over it," Manu sighed. "Old wounds don't heal." 

"Was that _really_  a wound to you, Müller?"

Fips, to his credit, had not started engaging with the immediate devolution of the team. He was instead looking worriedly at Basti, who was staring ahead at the entrance of the training ground without really seeing.

"Basti?" he said quietly, taking a hold of the midfielder's arm. Basti blinked at him. "Are you feeling alright?"

Basti gave Fips a brave smile. "Yeah. I am. I'm just... I just need to see him again, and then it'll all be smooth sailing from there." 

"And will you  _talk_ to him?" Fips murmured. 

Basti nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I will. I have to. This time I will." 

"You'll be fine, Basti," Fips said with a smile. "You both always fight through. And you'll do it-" 

He was cut off by a sudden loud whoop. The Leverkusen duo had arrived- Julian and Kai had headed into the training ground. 

Leon instantly ran towards his friend to give him a hug while every other Bayern player exchanged amused looks at how dumbfounded Kai looked. Jonas smiled a little sympathetically at him and Jogi looked wary, not knowing what to expect from this newest addition to the squad.  _Please be another Jonas._

"Manu!" Thomas scolded, once he got a look at Manu's face. "Stop looking so scary! You're not trying to antagonise the poor kid!" 

Manu looked surprised and then indignant. "I'm not looking scary!" 

"Yes you are!" Thomas said disapprovingly. "You're wearing your,  _he's very good and has almost made me concede before so I'm going to intimidate him so he knows his place_ face. Take it off! He's a little sweetheart and you can't scare him!" 

"I'm  _not_ wearing that face! This is my resting face!" 

"Well, put a new one on! Smile at him!" Thomas insisted. Manu looked even more annoyed. 

"Hiya, Kai," Leon said in a friendly tone, because Julian had firmly warned him that if _he_ tried to roast Kai straight away, there would be consequences. He extended a hand. "Good to see you part of the senior squad."

Kai looked very excited and grabbed Leon's hand, shaking it a little wildly. "Oh my God, Leon Goretzka! Hi! You are such an amazing player! Your headers are so good! And thanks! Oh my God, I can't  _believe_ I'm here!" 

Leon clutched his heart at the praise (he heard so little of it he thought it was a justified reaction) and Julian gave him an unimpressed look. Everybody approached Kai and Julian as they drew nearer, Kai bouncing on the balls of his feet, but also starting to look a little shy. 

"Good to see you, Havertz," Jogi said, extending a hand for Kai to shake. Kai looked at the hand as if it was part of an alien's body and was only spurred to shake it when Julian discreetly kicked the back of his shin.

"Oh- oh, sorry!" he said suddenly, almost lunging to take Jogi's hand to make up for his moment of indecision. "Thank you so much for calling me up, wow, I'm so happy to be here, Mr Löw-!" 

Thomas screamed. Julian quite wanted to die. Jerome winced. Kai turned a bright, boiling scarlet. Jogi blinked. 

"There's no need to call me Mr Löw, Havertz, you can just call me Jogi," Jogi said, after a moment of open-mouthed astonishment. "There is no requirement for basic respect in this squad, as our main degenerate Müller is helpfully demonstrating to us now. Though, if you want to show it, be my gu-"

"He'll pass, thanks," Thomas said, cutting through Jogi. Jogi just sighed and turned away to talk to his assistant again. "Hey, kid. That was amazing.  _Mr Löw,_ God, I wish Marco was here-" 

"I didn't know what to call him," Kai fretted, flapping his hands. "Sorry, Jule, I just panicked!" 

"Don't worry, don't worry, we'll keep your secret. For now," Thomas reassured him. Julian blinked. "Good to see you finally with us, Havertz, I told everyone we've been waiting for someone like you-" 

He went to hug Kai, who responded enthusiastically, relieved that nobody was yelling at him or eviscerating him (yet). Everyone went forwards for either a handshake or a hug, all of them being subjected to Kai's rambling excitement about how good they were (none of them were opposed to it). When Kai reached Manu, Thomas had to give his boyfriend a warning look. 

"Manuel Neuer!" Kai gushed, practically jumping up and down. "The best goalkeeper ever, right in front of me! Wow! I'm super sorry about that one time I nearly scored against you, but your save was amazing anyway! I can't believe you're right here!" 

Thomas winced at Kai mentioning  _nearly scoring,_ but Manu's face actually softened somewhat. Though he still looked a bit... stern. 

"Good to see you part of the team, Kai," he said, sounding a bit like a military drill sergeant rather than actually welcoming. But then he smiled. "I hope you'll  _actually_ score for our side, this time." 

Nobody was quite sure of the energy of this sentence, but Kai took it as a compliment and beamed, uttering many thanks before turning to greet Fips. 

The short captain was nothing more than a joke to his teammates at the best of times, but Kai seemed to be treating him with respect bordering on reverence- and he looked like he was about to positively explode with excitement.

"Philipp Lahm!  _Fips!_ The captain! The best right-back in the world sorry Joshua! Right here! Wow!" Kai gasped. He sent his arms flailing once more by mistake and almost hit Fips instead of shaking his hand. "Sorry! Ah! I'm just so excited!  _Philipp_ _Lahm!_ I am on a team where Philipp Lahm is playing! Amazing! Unheard of!"

 _Oh my God, he's more hyperactive than Thomas,_ Fips thought in horror as Kai seemed to rocket all across the walls. But he also smiled at the kid. 

"I hope you can prove yourself for your country like you do for club, Kai," he said kindly. 

"I'll try!" Kai said earnestly. "I'll try and do the best I can!" 

"You will," Jonas assured him. "You're an amazing talent, Kai." 

Kai turned very red but he beamed widely. Julian grinned and slung an arm around his friend's shoulders. This first meeting had gone far better than he had expected. He was proud of his friend. 

The conversation was cut through once again, by the sound of a roar- or, more accurately, the sound of impending doom.

" _Bitches!_ "

It was a sound that had Jogi looking up from his clipboard in horror and Fips sighing heavily, already dreading the worst. 

Marco and Mario had arrived. Mario was grinning brightly at his friends, whilst Marco winked obnoxiously and gestured at himself.

Benni and Mats exchanged looks. Kai looked excited. Fips put his head in his hands. But Jerome and Thomas laughed, rushing forwards to greet their friends. 

"There, there, Mülli," Marco said soothingly, as Thomas knocked into him with a hug. "Your purpose for living is here now. I know how hard it must have been in Sabener, surrounded by hope-draining Bayern bastards, whilst knowing how far away from you I was. But don't worry. The rain is gone and the sun is out." 

Thomas laughed. "The sun was already out. Jonas is here. And Kai, that kid, so sweet."

"He's not sweet, he thinks Hummels is a good centre-back," Marco said dismissively, throwing his arms around Jerome's shoulders and jumping on him in a strangling embrace as Thomas went to hug Mario. "Speaking of Hummels, look who it  _is!_ " 

He let go of Jerome almost at once, making a beeline for Mats. Everyone looked ready for the beginning of the drama- other than Fips and Jogi, of course.

"Hummels and Reus, do you really want to get extra laps when we have not been in each other's company for more than two minutes?" the long suffering coach called threateningly at once, as Marco walked right up to Mats and Mats used his height to tower over him. "Because you are on that path  _right now._ "

Marco paused, a feral grin stealing onto his face (Mario and Benni sighed in unison). "Honestly, Jogi. Always so pessimistic, thinking we're about to fight. It's like you have no expectations of us whatsoever!"

"I  _don't._ "

"Look." Marco extended a hand for Mats to shake. "A gesture of peace, Hummels."

Mats slapped his hand away. "Get your filthy hand away from me, Reus, you ugly son of a bitch." 

Marco gestured at his outstretched hand and looked at Jogi, clearly saying, _was that_ _my fault?_

It was. 

"No handshake for me?" Benni asked, a challenging glimmer in his eyes. Marco gave him a disgusted look. 

"I would rather touch a corpse, you Gelsenkirchen piece of roadkill," he said, shuddering. "I can't believe  _you_ got called up, Höwedes. How many have Herne-West conceded recently? I don't trust you defending our goal." 

"How many Revierderby games have you won over the past three years? None? That's right. Lüdenscheid-Nord are a fucking stain on the Ruhr region-"

"When was the last time you won the Bundesliga?" 

"Du kleines-"

"I'll settle this, Benedikt," Mats assured him loudly. "When was the last time _either_ of you won the Bundesliga against Bayern?" 

"Nobody asked you, Hummels!" both Marco and Benni yelled at once.

Kai was watching the scene with his mouth hanging open in fascination. The abundant baleful energy was so thick that it made it almost difficult to move. Benni had always seemed so nice and soft, but now he was glaring at Marco as if he wanted to kill him. But he understood, really. Leverkusen being in the Ruhr region also, the inter-regional rivalries were always very intense, Schalke versus Dortmund being the most intense of them all. Privately, he had always rooted for Schalke in the whole feud, but  he wouldn't dare voice  _that_ opinion aloud. He hated getting yelled at.

"I don't even know how you have the ability open your disgusting mouth, with Bayern's Wurst shoved in so deep," Marco spat at Mats. "You traitorous scum,  _supporting_ Schalke, I really hate you so  _fucking_ much-" 

"Alright, okay!" Jogi yelled, striding in the midst of them all, as Mats squared up. "No mentions of club rivalries! We are all together on the  _same team,_ Bundesliga be damned!"

Benni looked livid, and Manu, being a former Schalker, went to go and calm him down. Leon thought immediately that this would be a mistake, and he was right.

"You really think  _you_  can try and reassure me, Manuel Neuer, oh, you have  _some_  nerve-"

Mario had to escort Marco away too, quietly wondering what he had done to deserve a situation like this, especially having dealt with Marc-Andre and Bernd for so long. 

"Save it, you little idiot," Jerome sighed, shoving Mats so he was standing well away from Marco. Thomas was beside himself with laughter nearby, he was so fucking excited for the international break to start properly.

Fips, meanwhile, had been silent throughout the whole exchange. 

He was going to start balding.

The arrival of the first batch of international players should have calmed things down. Mario was distracted at once from Marco's ranting and Manu from Benni's by the arrival of the Spanish players- Marc-Andre ter Stegen and Toni Kroos. 

Mario Gomez, Basti, Kai and Joshua had all looked up very eagerly at the new entrance and looked down in disappointment again (barring Kai, who looked even more star-struck) as they saw who it was. Toni rolled his eyes at the less than enthusiastic welcome, but accepted Jerome's big hug anyway, almost being knocked over by its enthusiasm. Marc-Andre's eyes were sweeping around the assorted players very quickly, and he wore a very strange expression as his eyes fell on Mario and darted away almost at once. 

Manu and Mario met eyes above the crowd of players. 

When Marc-Andre came up to Mario, he seemed  _very_ distracted. Mario gave him a hug and looked up at him curiously. 

"You look like you're worried about something, Marc-Andre," he said carefully. "Something on your mind?" 

Marc-Andre jumped as if he had been slapped. "N-No! I'm a-okay!"

"Bernd's call-up really affected you that much, huh?" Mario said casually, eyeing Marc-Andre to see how he would react.

Indeed, Marc-Andre's face flooded pink. "Yeah! I'm fucking- I'm fucking distraught. How Jogi could let him come, I don't know. I'll fucking die, Mario. No, I'll fucking kill _him_." 

It was the least animated complaining Mario had ever heard from him. When Marc-Andre moved away to greet the others, he met Manu's gaze once more and arched one eyebrow.

_Something's up._

Meanwhile, Toni was already exasperated by it all.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Boateng," he said wryly, as Jerome shot him an annoyed look even after his affectionate greeting. "Already fucking pining about Lewandowski, this week is going to be worse for me than it is for you." 

"No it isn't. My baby. He's gone. Away to play for Poland.  _My_ baby. He's not here, Toni, I'm going to  _die._ " 

"Okay. Do it," Toni said, walking away from Jerome, who stared after him in outrage, and towards Jonas, was standing by himself at the edge of the group.

Jonas looked surprised as he approached, but he smiled warmly. 

"Hi, Toni!" he said. "It's good to see you again!"

"You too," Toni said, and he moved forwards, and, just as Jonas stuck his hand out for the handshake, Toni paused with his arms stretched out for a hug. 

Death seemed like a very welcoming prospect at the moment. Jonas went very pink and quickly withdrew his hand so he could hug Toni properly, and as Toni very quickly patted his back and let go, his face went through several expressions, settling on a visceral wince of embarrassment. Fortunately, thank all the fucking gods, nobody noticed the exchange whatsoever. Toni couldn't bring himself to make conversation and muttered something incoherent before thankfully being dragged backwards into a head-lock by Marco, and then he was greeted by Kai, who was jumping up and down in excitement at meeting one of his favourite attacking midfielders. 

Most of the group was here now, but Jogi's heart rate hadn't quite reached maximum level- there was still the England players, the France and the Italy players left. 

In fact, the whole group were now waiting for these players' arrival. The Germans who wanted drama were eagerly awaiting Mesut, Sami and Bernd's arrival, Basti was waiting for Lukas with his face a little white now (Fips placed a gentle hand on his back), Joshua was waiting to eviscerate his boyfriend for his unintentional slutty comments. Thomas, Manu and Mario were waiting for Miro- two of them in excitement, one of them with slight dread inside of him. Kai was waiting eagerly to see Bernd again. As was Marc-Andre, who felt more anxiety throbbing inside of him than he did in a Champions League game. He was  _sure_ Mario and Manu were looking at him more than necessary.

This international break was going to be... a fucking shambles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm definitely introducing a benni vs marco rivalry,,, i mean i introduced it before but we def need the malevolent energy of a schalke vs dortmund dynamic in this fic. it's absolutely hilarious and such a staple of german football. i have two friends who are both a schalke and dortmund supporter alike and i got them both their rival club's jersey for xmas, and they both tried to kill me. they're ALWAYS BICKERING and both of them would rather have bayern win than each other. the ruhr rivalry is one of my favourite things especially as a neutral :P i wish bavaria had a bigger number of rivalries, tsv isn't even in the 2nd division and the other bavarian clubs are shit lmao :P also i miss Köln in the bundesliga, köln vs leverkusen is always great
> 
> uhhh so everything hinges on the english idiots and sami and miro coming, stay t u n e d ;) and if ur wondering about bernd and marc-andre dw dw next chapter 
> 
> hope you goofy goobers enjoyed, love you all :) i seriously don't know, should i make a tumblr or something so i can chat to u guys more, i have no idea how it works so it'd probably be bad but i like really wanna be friends with u guys :)


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus jeder!!! uhhhh guess Whom that's right it's your bitch
> 
> i'm dying without football. dying. every day a bit of my fucking soul drains away. i miss playing so much. i miss the bundesliga so much. the winter break is the fucking WORST. but im also so fucking nervous because my games coming up are so important like 2 points behind 2nd place and the first round of the cup tournament and what the fuck man everything relies on me,,, if i concede that is IT... ive been training so hard and god,, these sorts of games are def where scouts come in im Dying Help Anxiety i am fic!robert irl rn im so nervous help me,,,
> 
> also my life is so chaotic atm wtf,,,, i love using this fic to Vent my Feelings
> 
> but ummm... the fic... right... auf geht's...

It was Italy who came first. 

Basti wondered if he was being punished for some phantom sin. The second he heard the second tumultous wave of noise from the assembled players, he had come so close to leaping to his feet, sure that it was his Lukas strolling into the training ground, but no. 

It was Miro and Sami. Of fucking course. 

Nobody else shared his sentiment, though. The other players went buck wild at the sight of Miro and Sami- the former smiling kindly at them all, the latter hardly paying attention to anyone, scanning the scene before him very closely. Thomas and Manu were heading towards Miro at once, and Jerome, Toni, Marco and Mario went straight to Sami. 

It was Manu who converged on Miro first, his long arms wrapping around the striker, squeezing him tightly. Miro looked mildly surprised but the sides of his lips quirked up and he patted Manu's back. Thomas was about to make a comment, but as he saw how  _happy_ Manu looked hugging Miro, he thought he could put up with being the second person in line.

"I did it," Manu whispered in Miro's ear, feeling as though he wanted to lift Miro into the air (Miro was a bit too heavy for that though). "I did it. I called Hugo, Miro. I'm going to see him." 

Miro's whole face changed, and he suddenly looked absolutely delighted. "Oh, Manu! That's wonderful news! I'm so happy for you!" 

"It's thanks to you and Thommy," Manu said, still clinging onto Miro because he had no idea how else to express his gratitude. "I'm getting help. I'm getting help. It... It's going to get better. Thank you, Miro, thank you." 

"I am so proud," Miro said steadily. "I told you, Manu. You are so  _strong._ And you've proved it yet again." 

Mario Gomez had walked up to where Manu and Miro were hugging, looking very casual with his hands in his pockets, not quite looking at Miro. Thomas shot him a suspicious look, and moved a little forwards to pointedly indicate that  _he_ would be the next person to get hugged-

But when Miro released Manu, patting the goalkeeper's cheek and giving him an incredibly fond smile, he turned towards  _Mario-_ and Thomas' jaw dropped in disbelief as Miro's arms went around  _him_ first-

Manu, who was grinning uncontrollably, noticed Thomas's expression. "Oh my God, Thommy, you're never going to let that go, are you?" 

Thomas was speechless. 

But Thomas could've been a speck in the Allianz Arena with how noticed he went by Miro and Mario. As Miro's arms went around Mario, Mario felt that his mind was in freefall, spinning rapidly out of control, but he also felt so  _grounded._ Miro smelled like fucking oranges and he was so warm and strong and steady- and although Mario's brain had quite literally imploded, he couldn't help but think,  _this is it. T_ _his is why you haven't lost the plot yet._

_You're so weak._

"I missed you," Miro said softly as he pulled back from Mario, giving him a look that was so tender Mario's belly swooped. "It's been too long, Mario." 

"It has," Mario murmured. That was all he could think to say. The feeling of Miro's arms slipping away from him left him feeling oddly as though a weight had been slipped _onto_ his shoulders. 

Miro finally noticed Thomas, still standing open-mouthed. And then he winced. 

"Mülli-" he began. 

Thomas raised a hand and pointed it directly at Miro. "No." 

"Mülli, it's good to see-"

" _No._ "

He stormed off from Miro to go and see Sami. Manu gave Miro a look to say,  _what can you do,_ but he leaned towards Miro and muttered:

"He's thankful to you too, Miro, don't worry." 

Miro smiled, and then he sighed and turned to Mario, who shrugged in turn. Mario had given up trying to work out just why Thomas got so jealous when Miro showed anyone else but him affection. 

On the other side of things, the reunions between Sami and the other Germans who had rushed at him was somewhat less...  _heartwarming._ Jerome tackled Sami with a full-blown bear hug while Mario tried to join in, Marco instantly started punching him (in a friendly way) and Toni sort of stood awkwardly at the edge of it all, now wondering why he had come.

Okay, fine. He was just as self-indulgent with drama as the rest of them. He was human. Mesami was  _funny._

"Jesus, Jerome, I can't breathe, I can't breathe!" Sami said, slapping Jerome's back heartily anyway. "Good to see you, man. Good to see you too, Götze. Reus, if you keep hitting me I'll cut your fucking  arm off. And you too, Toni, hey. And stop fucking grinning at me like that, Müller."

His eyes had travelled away from them again, at the assortment of players who hadn't rushed forwards. The other four all exchanged looks with each other, carefully tightening their lips so not a sound escaped. Mario was always, always the weak link and gave a quiet giggle. 

It was this giggle that seemed to bring Sami down to Earth. He rolled his eyes at them, picked his bags up and moved towards the rest of them as the four then went to hug Miro, with Thomas stomping off with Sami instead. 

Kai was standing on his tiptoes and rocking back and forth when Sami approached. When he saw Sami coming closer, he fell backwards, but was caught by Jule before he landed on his ass and caught a roasting. 

"Alright, everyone?" Sami said, as the whole selection of players tried not to giggle and Fips watched them like a hawk, _daring_ them to make a comment. 

Kai was now re-evaluating his committment to the cause he had offered his life to. Sami's eyes fell upon him and he felt himself begin to shrink a little. 

"Havertz, huh?" Sami said, moving towards Kai. Just his general proximity wanted to make Kai step backwards, but he beamed anyway. "The twinkle toed kid from Leverkusen?" 

"Hi!" Kai said. "Yes! I am the twinkle-toed kid from Leverkusen! And you're the super cool central midfielder from Juventus!" 

Sami blinked. And then he blinked again. Julian watched him carefully, actually ready to jump in and protect Kai if Sami decided to act up- but instead, the midfielder actually extended his hand. 

"Welcome to the team, kid," he said gruffly. Kai looked delighted and seized his hand and shook it. 

Sami let go of him and didn't really look at him again, going off to talk to Fips. Kai clutched his heart, turning to Julian. 

"Jule, what the hell, he shook my hand!" he said in a low voice. "He didn't yell at me! And he didn't want to kill me! And sorry, I forgot to mention Giroud!" 

Julian was beside himself with laughter. "Don't worry, Kai. Oh my God, Sami is another level of petty. He only shook your hand because you  _complimented_ him, what a world-"

On the other side of things, Basti was starting to get edgy. Fips noticed the irritable expression on his face and hoped for the sake of  _everyone,_ really, that the English lot of players would arrive soon. It almost felt like there was a steady drumroll in the background that all the rambunctious chatter couldn't drown out. Sami had only been here for about four minutes and he was already getting antsy about seeing Mesut again, Marc-Andre wasn't listening to a word Jonas was saying to him, Joshua was loudly complaining to Leon and Julian and Kai about Julian Draxler's absence... 

Someone else entered the training ground. Basti's head whipped up and went back down so fast Fips was surprised he didn't crack his neck.

Joshua, on the other hand, leapt to his feet with a yell of delight as Julian Draxler held his arms open, grinning. 

"Wait, are they going out?" Kai asked Julian Brandt. Julian gave him a look of disbelief. 

"He was literally  _just_ complaining that his boyfriend wasn't here." 

"I got distracted!" 

Joshua couldn't quite start insulting his boyfriend yet as they collided into each other, because Julian being here was so wonderful that all he could say was "Fuck, I missed you, I missed you!" 

"I missed you too," Julian said, kissing the top of Joshua's head. 

 _That_ was when Joshua decided to strike.  

"Hm, well," he said a little ominously. "You sure didn't sound that way on the  _group chat,_ flirting with  _Mesut_ and talking about  _gorgeous, sexy Giroud-_ "

"Oh my God, I was trying to bamboozle Mesami!" 

The bickering had already started, though Joshua was grinning so much that the effect of his words was negated. Jerome watched them for a bit with his arms folded and a scowl on his face. Sami noticed his annoyed expression and rolled his eyes.

"Jesus, you get so brooding when you spend a couple of weeks away from Lewandowski. News flash, Boateng, you've got the easiest deal out of all of us," he sighed. 

Jerome gave him a filthy look. 

" _Us?_ " he said acidly. "Are you including yourself in that?" 

Sami blinked and then he turned red. "No. Because- because I don't have a boyfriend, obviously. But _they_ all do, half the relationships in this squad are long-distance. If they can manage months away from their boyfriends, you can manage two weeks." 

Jerome was too irritated to appreciate the audacity and irony behind Sami's words. He just glowered at the central midfielder, especially when Sami looked out into the distance again, waiting eagerly for Mesut. _Fucking Flachwichser._

He didn't get to indulge in his annoyance for long, however- Marco had dragged Jerome away towards the little group of gossipers so they could laugh about it all. 

"Look at their faces," he hissed, gesturing both at Sami and Marc-Andre, who Jonas seemed to realise wasn't listening to him and was now looking a bit awkward. "It's fucking nonsensical. You don't need to be sad about Lewandowski when you've got this to sustain you, Jeri. We're going to be in the presence of this bullshit throughout the international break." 

"Oh, yeah, because I  _want_ to be stuck around this troupe of fucking in-denial, audacious, idiotic, blind buffoons rather than my boyfriend, of course, spot on, Marco," Jerome said moodily.  

Marco raised his eyes to the heavens. "You won't be singing that tune soon enough." 

"Yes I  _will,"_ Jerome said, at the same time Toni said, "Yes he will."

Thomas patted Jerome's shoulder. "Don't worry, Jerome. Robert needs to go and get shit done for Poland, he'll be so good you'll stop missing him and just be proud of him instead." 

"Müller, wood!" Jerome said frantically, grabbing Thomas' hand and dragging him over to a bench. 

Mario Götze and Manu were standing by each other, both of them sharing what they had picked up already. 

"I asked him if he was out of it because of Bernd getting called up... and then he turned red and barely even complained, just said a whole lot of gabbling nonsense," Manu filled in Mario on his interaction with the Barcelona goalkeeper. 

"Gabbling nonsense? That's not news, it's just Marc-Andre," Mario said. "But you're right, he seemed way less animated complaining, like he didn't wave his hands about like he usually does, he looked like his heart wasn't in it. And I have known these fucking coconut heads for longer than anyone should have to. Their hearts are  _never_ not in complaining about each other."

"Hmmm..." Manu folded his arms, glancing out at Marc-Andre once more. "The good thing about Marc-Andre, I guess, is that he's obvious as fuck about everything, so I'll probably find out everything weird that's going on in a day or so." 

There was a lot of truth in this. Mario was dying of his curiosity but he also knew that it really wouldn't be too long until he found out what was going on. 

It looked like he was going to get the perfect opportunity to do it now.

The roar at the sight of the English players finally,  _finally_ arriving probably could have rivalled the fucking Westfalenstadion's noise. Mesut Özil, Lukas Podolski, Bernd Leno and Leroy Sane had entered the training ground, and each one of them was someone someone had been waiting for- well, except Leroy. Nobody really cared about him. 

Fips had expected Basti to throw everything aside at the sight of Lukas, given that he had been jumping out of his seat every few seconds every time he had thought he was coming, but he was surprised to see that Basti had suddenly gone very stiff. Lukas ignored everyone, however, and sped straight towards him, his arms wide open. 

For a moment Basti struggled to think, but then Lukas's arms went around him and he  _melted._ There was something about the feeling of his Lukas' embrace that could make every single problem in the world go away, leaving a warmth that bloomed across his body in its wake. Basti's arms went around Lukas and the two of them clung to each other, the idiocy dissolving around them and leaving just the two of them. Lukas was whispering nonsense strings of words in Basti's ears, mostly consisting of " _ich liebe dich, ich habe dich vermisst, mein Lieber-_ " 

"Ich auch," was all Basti could say. " _Ich auch._ " 

Ridiculously, tears had sprung to his eyes, and it wasn't long before he had started to cry. Lukas smiled and held him close, not knowing that behind those tears were thoughts that would break him apart.

Mesut had relentlessly made fun of Bernd ever since he had returned to London. Bernd hadn't experienced a single moment of peace ever since he had seen Mesut again. Every time the man looked at him he dissolved into laughter, the mockery had been never-ending. Bernd had been desiring death ever since he had left Barcelona. Mesut had promised Bernd that when he saw Marc-Andre again, he would fall apart, he had been so excited to mock-

But when he arrived in the training ground, it was as if he had completely forgotten that Bernd and Marc-Andre existed. His eyes were on one man and one man only- he walked straight past an open-mouthed Marc-Andre as if he wasn't even there and towards  _Sami,_ who had been staring at him as if he had seen a ghost. 

"Jesus Christ, Mes," Sami whispered, as Mesut hugged him.

It was fucking insane how  _complete_ they felt, how Mesut felt that vague feeling of loss he had been experiencing since the end of the last international break disappear just like that, to be replaced by an all-encompassing _happiness_. His _best friend_ was here again, after all this time. Thoughts about bickering, Olivier Giroud and giggling teammates dissipated into the air as the two of them held each other close, not wanting to let go. 

"Ich habe dich vermisst. So viel," Sami murmured. "So viel. Ich liebe dich, bro."

"Ich auch. Mein Gott, Sami. Ich bin so..." Mesut shook his head, not able to find the right words for what he wanted to say. So he settled with just burying his head in Sami's shoulder. And that was more than enough.

It was only Fips' glare that stopped everyone from losing their goddamn _minds._  

"Bernd! You're here!" On the other end of things, Kai had sped off away from Julian the second he had seen the third goalkeeper enter the training ground. The kid had positively exploded with excitement at the sight of Mesut incoming, punching Julian all over in his joy, but the sight of Bernd made him even more excited. Julian watched him go with a little bit of sadness inside of him as Kai threw himself at Bernd in a hug. 

"Hey, kid, good to see you!" Bernd laughed, patting Kai's back, but it was so clear he was distracted, and that fucking pissed Julian off. His eyes had instantly fallen on Marc-Andre, causing everyone who had been silently screaming at Mesut and Sami to lose their heads again. 

Manu and Mario exchanged looks. 

Kai looked like he eagerly wanted to start chattering to Bernd about all and everything, but even he seemed to notice Bernd's mind was in a different place, so instead he fell silent. Julian glared as Bernd gave Kai a second distracted embrace before almost tripping over his suitcase and moving forwards.

Sami and Mesut had more or less broken apart now, though Sami's arm was still around Mesut's shoulders, and the two of them were exchanging silent, gleeful looks, unaware that everyone was looking at _them_ the same way. Leroy looked a bit disappointed that nobody had rushed forwards to hug  _him_  other than Jerome, who seized him in an affectionate headlock and ruffled his hair.He had a bone to pick- or more like a whole fucking skeleton- with Marc-Andre ter Stegen.

But he had to laugh anyway, because the shambolic energy emanating from  _Steno_ right now...

"Ter Stegen, Leno," Jogi said warily. "I bestow upon you the same warning I bestowed upon Hummels and Reus. Make sure you don't get extra laps straight away, it has been one minute." 

It was as if he hadn't spoken. Neither of them paid him any heed. 

They stared at each other.

 _Shit, Bernd,_ Bernd suddenly thought to himself, as he gazed into Marc-Andre's pretty eyes.  _You have to insult him. Beeile dich, you useless dickhead!_

"Guten Tag, Fickfehler," he said hastily. "Bist du bereit, auf der Bank zu sitzen?"

"Du bist nie von der Bank, du kühn Fotze," Marc-Andre stammered back. 

Mesut and Sami were so  _fucking_ close to losing the plot... Leroy had moved behind the height and bulk of Jerome to hide himself... _Jesus Christ..._

Manu and Mario were  _instantly_ suspicious... the two were not at all known for their roasting proficiency, but at least they usually had the appropriate angry energy behind their words... 

Bernd eventually had to hurry away and everyone roared with laughter, Marc-Andre having to hug Leroy to try and hide his visceral embarrassment. Leroy was quietly eviscerating him the whole time for everything that had happened in Barcelona. Mario and Manu, however, had their arms folded and were squinting carefully.

Kai, meanwhile, was being bodily dragged over to Mesut and Sami by Julian. Though he had positively exploded at first, he was now looking very shy and it was clear he would not talk to his idol without being forced to. Julian let go of Kai in front of Mesut, who smiled, and Sami, who looked a little bit hostile. 

"Say hi to Kai, Mesut," Julian said, rolling his eyes. Kai was blushing from head to toe. "I don't know why he's suddenly clammed up, but believe me, he can never shut up about you on a normal day." 

" _Jule!_ " Kai intoned silently, wanting to die. 

Mesut grinned and offered his arms for a hug. "Hey, kid. I've seen some of your games, you're a talented one. Good to meet you for the first time." 

Julian burst out laughing as Kai's entire body suddenly glowed after it had drooped a little at Bernd's lack of attention, though he still could only shuffle awkwardly into Mesut's arms for the hug. Even Sami's lips twitched. 

The entire scene was being observed by Jogi, who didn't quite know why he hadn't done some soothing yoga when he had woken up in the morning.

"Well, then," Jogi said, looking resigned. He hadn't expected anything different than this, to be honest. "What a lovely way for us all to reunite, hm? Immediate idiocy, two pairs who won't stop fighting for the entire time, Höwedes, who was meant to be a normal one, becoming a degenerate just like the rest of them-" 

"He was a degenerate all along, Jogi, you know what club he plays for-" Marco began, and Benni smiled, getting ready to destroy the man's whole existence-

"Reus. You are the worst of them all. You make me want to start smoking. Be  _quiet,_ " Jogi said steadily, cutting through Benni's response. Marco clutched his heart as if he had just been shot. "Now we're all here, we can start the whole team briefing, and if I hear a distraction you had best believe I will- Schweinsteiger, are you alright?"

Confused, everyone's gaze went from Jogi to Basti and Lukas, who were still hugging each other. Lukas's face was now very worried- Basti had not lifted his face from his shoulder yet, and he was shaking. Fips was staring at his friend in deep concern, as was Jerome, who, of course, knew about the thoughts Basti had been having recently...

"Does he need a moment?" Jogi asked Lukas quietly. Lukas nodded. "Okay, you guys can take a moment on the side. No worries." 

Lukas coaxed Basti to move to the side. Everyone now looked very sombre and uncomfortable. Jerome wondered... had Basti told Lukas anything yet?

"Oh, poor Basti," Mario Götze whispered to Marco. Marco stared after Basti, his brow creased.

"Okay," Jogi said, a little more seriously. "Onto the briefing."

***

_Private chat between Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng_

**Jerome:** ROOOOOOOOOOOBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB 

 **Jerome:** MY LOVEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE 

 **Jerome:** HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

 **Robert:** HEY HEY HEY! 

 **Robert:** God Mesut and Sami must have fucking had sex if ur this excited Jeri

 **Jerome:** am i not allowed to be happy to talk to u :( 

 **Jerome:** i miss u !! 

 **Robert:** True, I miss you too

 **Robert:** But you KNOW you want to get into the drama straight away

 **Jerome:** i do,, but i also want to tell you i love you ! 

 **Jerome:** i love you !

 **Robert:** Ok, maybe you want to get into me first

 **Jerome:** Robert. 

 **Jerome:** STOP. 

 **Robert:** I love youuuuuuuu! :) 

 **Jerome:** >:( 

 **Robert:** >:) 

 **Jerome:** >:(

 **Robert:** Sorry sorry Jeri I won't make sex jokes I don't want you to die

 **Robert:** I love youu and I miss you too tell me all and everything honey 

 **Jerome:** :) 

 **Jerome:** uhhh so there's like a list of things

 **Jerome:** im gonna start with a sad one god basti and lukas are breaking my heart :(( basti just lost it when he saw lukas :(( 

 **Robert:** :( 

 **Robert:** Do you know if he's talked to Lukas yet?

 **Jerome:** i have no idea he hasn't talked to me about it

 **Jerome:** he was crying a lot and i thought he'd be happy af to see lukas :(

 **Robert:** Probably all his pent-up emotion about missing Lukas just came out because Lukas was right there

 **Jerome:** that's true :( 

 **Jerome:** but eventually lukas managed to calm him down so ur right it was prob just an uncontrollable reaction

 **Robert:** He'll be happier when they spend more time together

 **Jerome:** i hope ! 

 **Jerome:** i love those two idiots so much :( 

 **Jerome:** anyway nummer zwei! 

 **Jerome:** M 

 **Jerome:** E

 **Jerome:** S 

 **Jerome:** A 

 **Robert:** Mesami? 

 **Jerome:** M 

 **Jerome:** I

 **Jerome:** i'll kill you robert. 

 **Jerome:** u knew you didn't have to break that up. 

 **Robert:** Es tut mir leid 

 **Robert:** You've been incredibly annoying recently so I decided to repay the favour

 **Jerome:** aRe yOu oN yOuR gAmE tOdAy

 **Robert:** mOrE tHaN yOu aRe

 **Jerome:** good comeback

**Jerome:**

**Robert:** Isn't that a good thing, being compared to ter Stegen

 **Jerome:** no lmao he's garbage at roasting

 **Jerome:** like you 

 **Robert:** **like your mother**

 **Jerome:** bye i don't miss you

 **Robert:** Come back

 **Robert:** Tell me about Mesami

 **Jerome:** deine mutter ist mesami

**Robert:**

**Robert:** Don't you ever say that again

 **Jerome:** sorry that was below the belt your matka is actually a very clever woman :) 

 **Jerome:** anyway omg, do you think i can get through a story without u leading me off a tangent u fucking chicken wing

 **Robert:** Try your best. 

 **Jerome:** ok you ludicrous motherfucker

 **Jerome:** omg so when sami was there first he was being so ANNOYING 

 **Jerome:** HE WAS LIKE "wHy aRE yOu MisSiNg rObeRt YoU haVe tHe bEsT dEaL oUt oF uS" 

 **Jerome:** USSSSSS

 **Robert:** What's wrong with that?

 **Robert:** He misses his boyfriend. 

 **Jerome:** the stupid gehirnverweigerer when he saw mesut u should've fucking seen his face,,, his eyes literally WIDENED and mesut just walked STRAIGHT up to him and they hugged for about 20 hours

 **Jerome:** i think i heard sami saying "ich liebe dich bro" 

 **Robert:** Don't forget the "bro", Jeri. 

 **Robert:** Mes is his bro. 

 **Jerome:** i thought he was sami's boyfriend

 **Robert:** Don't be naive, Jeri.

 **Robert:** You think they can make their minds up? 

 **Jerome:** okldkdksjgr  True

 **Jerome:** and i swear to god. we were So Close To The EdGE I WAS CRYING AT FIRST I DIDNT CARE BC ALL I WAS THINKING ABOUT WAS U BUT THEN THEY CAME AND I NEARLY LOST MY SHIT 

 **Jerome:** ROB HOW AM I GOING TO HANDLE THIS

 **Robert:** Without interfering

 **Jerome:** WE HAVE TO

 **Robert:** You don't

 **Jerome:** TRUST ME WE DO AND YOU CAN'T STOP MARCO ANYWAY 

 **Robert:** Ok you're right but I can ban you from trying to interfere

 **Jerome:** u sound like fips

 **Jerome:** don't u want them to find love 

 **Robert:** Honestly,,, I am kind of enjoying these constant updates of stupidity

 **Jerome:** AHA

 **Jerome:** I KNEW IT

 **Jerome:** YOU WERE PREACHING THE MORAL HIGH GROUND BUT REALLY YOU ARE A FUCKING FRAUD WHO WANTS DRAMA

**Robert:**

****

**Robert:** I am only human, Jeri

 **Robert:** A gorgeous Polish human but human nonetheless 

 **Jerome:** u are,, the absolute worst

 **Jerome:** right well now i can stop feeling guilty when we try and interfere 

 **Robert:** It's not entirely for my own benefit

 **Robert:** I do genuinely think that interfering will make things awkward for them

 **Jerome:** oh ok cool,s o basically saying i love you in front of everyone then not realising ur in love is less awkward

 **Robert:** "Ignorance is bliss" 

 **Robert:** They don't feel awkward because they don't know they have to feel awkward

 **Jerome:** they still do feel awkward

 **Jerome:** sami goes the colour of our home kit and he has no idea why

 **Jerome:** and honestly he's just embarrassing himself at the moment sksksnfeirfn

 **Jerome:** gIrOuD iSn'T tHaT tAlEnTeD i hAte hIm hE'S steAlInG mEs

 **Jerome:** oh wait i forgot, you agree with him

 **Robert:** Lol bye

 **Robert:** I hate you

 **Jerome:** because you know i'm right

 **Robert:** You are decidedly not

 **Robert:** So we've concluded that you're not going to listen to me and interfere and that Sami is an idiot, just regular German business

 **Robert:** Anything else going on? 

 **Jerome:** uhhh YES

 **Jerome:** MARC-ANDRE TER STEGEN AND BERND LENO

 **Robert:** Ohhhh the younger slightly more self-aware version of Mesami

 **Jerome:** ja

 **Jerome:** i was a bit shook when i found out bernd got called up

 **Jerome:** it's all very suspicious tbh there's usually big drama but this time barely a peep

 **Jerome:** they called each other cunts and stuff but i wasnt sensing the Pettiness

 **Robert:** That is weird 

 **Robert:** Didn't you tell me Bernd just went off the map too?

 **Jerome:** yeah and marc

 **Jerome:** weird business 

 **Jerome:** obviously i'm going to Keep An Eye Out 

 **Robert:** Yeah because you don't know how to mind your own business

**Jerome: you just said you didn't want us to interfere w mesami because u wanted to hear updates on the drama**

**Robert:** Again

 **Robert:** I am human 

 **Jerome:** no    ur not

 **Jerome:** suck my dick

 **Robert:** Idk why you're acting like that's a cutting insult that's what you want

 **Robert:** That's what you always want 

 **Jerome:** u really want death this international break huh. 

 **Robert:** Yes end my suffering 

 **Jerome:** no u have to play for poland

 **Robert:** All the more reason for you to end my suffering

 **Jerome:** NO

 **Jerome:** ur going to be fantastisch

 **Jerome:** show-stopping

 **Jerome:** spectacular 

 **Robert:** You'd better be fucking lying on a thick piece of wood rn

 **Jerome:** dont worry toni's here

 **Robert:** I will settle for saying I'll hopefully be just enough

 **Jerome:** ur more than enough ur the most and u do the most 

 **Jerome:** i gtg now my bababy i love u  talk to u later call me call me call me

 **Jerome:** here's to a good interntional break 

**Jerome:**

**Robert:** I fucking hate you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kai has a very deep voice wtf
> 
> i know ive replied to literally every comment with this but  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oZusLDN0XgA  
> u all have to watch it im sorry but im so Soft about toni kroos i fucking love him,,, what ?!?!?  
> uhm so i know i have painted toni as very single,,, but leon kroos must be in this fic,,, so let's just make this a miro situation where he is very peacefully separated from his wife and they are good friends and everything because it is FanFiction,, and ignore any logical inconsistencies LEON IS IN THIS FIC OK I DON'T THINK ANYONE HAS OBJECTIONS IF THEY WATCH THE VIDEO
> 
> flachwichser=fuckwit  
> fickfehler=unplanned birth  
> kühn fotze= audacious cunt  
> Gehirnverweigerer= someone who aint use their brain 
> 
> i fucking screamed bc i checked the english translated version of these words to see if theyd translate it properly for u guys and the translation for fickfehler is 'fuck fuck' and for kühn fotze its 'darn cunt' no guys that is INCORRECT use my glossary of correct german insults pls lmao
> 
> like LOOK THIS IS HOW THEY TRANSLATED THE EXCHANGE  
> "Good day fuck fuck," he said hastily. "Are you ready to sit on the bench?"  
> "You're never off the bench, you darn cunt," Marc-Andre stammered back.  
> I LAUGHED FOR 20 HOURS STRAIGHT IS THIS REALLY HOW TRANSLATION SOFTWARE IS FOR YOU GUYS OMG 
> 
> i would like to warn u lvoely people that over the next 2 weeks i am liable to be incredibly busy, so updates might be thin on the ground. there's some family shit going down atm,,, lol my lovely sister is back in münchen and boy she fucking hates me, and she's going through shit with a divorce, so i can sense things are gonna go real well :) i mean i think every interaction we've had recently she has slapped the shit out of me lmao, it's gonna be so good. but i also have a lot on my schedule,,, so i am sorry if i don't update much!!
> 
> uh was this chapter good
> 
> love u all <33


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 3!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus jeder! 
> 
> here is my beginning chapter note, this may be the last chapter for that little bit of time i hope ill get more time to update, but if it is i will still try and engage with u guys
> 
> i made a tumblr,,, idek if i'll use it. but it's called moroslavklose !! if u guys wanna chat!! 
> 
> auf geht's!

There were two momentous games taking place during this international break, so Jogi had somehow hoped that the team would be focused and motivated when he saw them again.

He wasn't sure _why_ he kept hoping for these things. He was always disappointed. 

When the briefing was over, and they had giggled their way through his entire talk about certain tactical shifts he wanted to put in versus the more physical Netherlands side, and his expectations for lineups and rotations, he dismissed them with the vague feeling that they had barely heard a word he had said. God, this team gave him anxiety. Sometimes he went into the games dreading the worst because he thought they hadn't listened to anything he had said about tactics, but then they managed to put in performances befitting of every award in the world anyway.  _Why_ couldn't they act like that in training?

The team were all in fantastic spirits as they headed off to get lunch- being together had somehow made all worries fade away, and they were all enjoying each other's presence far more than they would ever admit. Marco and Mats were both busy heartily abusing each other, but everyone was sure that they were both really having the times of their lives. Mesut and Sami were walking ahead of them all, both of them acting as though nobody else in the world existed. Mario Götze was listening to Jerome complain about the lack of Robert in his life at the moment, and Miro was trying to plead with Thomas for forgiveness while Mario Gomez and Manu rolled their eyes at each other. Benni, once more, was turning Leon inside out for yet another mistimed comment, with Julian Draxler catching a hot roasting from both his boyfriend and his former captain for chiming in to defend him.

There were some people who didn't seem quite as happy, however. Lukas and Basti were trailing even further behind everyone, talking to each other very quietly, Basti very red-eyed.  Fips wasn't even paying attention to Mats and Marco's bickering as he watched them worriedly out of the corner of his eye. Everyone had unanimously decided to leave them alone, knowing that now was not the time or the place to try and bring them into the conversation when Basti was in such a sad state. 

Bernd was walking alongside Kai and Julian, well away from where Marc-Andre was with Leroy. As much as he wanted to talk to Kai, he simply could not control where his attention travelled. As the boy happily chattered about... something, Bernd found himself staring at the back of Marc-Andre's head, wishing he could open a window in the man's skull and slip in a note that told him that he wanted to talk about the crisis they were both in at the moment. 

"Bernd?" Kai asked a little nervously, almost walking into a pole (but Julian managed to pull him away from it in time). "Uhm... did you hear what I said?" 

Bernd blinked, his eyes going to Kai and then to Julian, who was glaring at him inordinately fiercely. 

"Shit, kid," he said apologetically. "I completely lost focus for a moment there, I'm sorry. What were you saying?" 

"I was just saying that-" Kai began, but then he cut himself off mid-sentence. "No, it's fine, it was something stupid anyway, it doesn't matter! Are you okay, Bernd? You look a bit... sad." 

Bernd was bewildered for a moment, and then he rubbed his face and smiled kindly. "I'm okay, Kai, don't worry, I'm not sad. I'm just tired. Planes tend to make me really sleepy, even if I'm not doing super long journeys. That means European away games can be a nightmare..." 

"I still wish my parents had let me go to the Champions League return leg against Atletico," Kai said glumly. 

"You had your Abitur, kid. Exams are more important," Bernd chided jokingly. 

"I know, but everyone made fun of me," Kai said sulkily. "Jule kept calling me a Pissnelke. I could've totally told everyone at my school all about it, they would've been  _lining_ up to get the details, but  _nooo,_ Mutter said that my  _education_ was my main priority..." 

"You are a Pissnelke," Bernd said fondly, ruffling Kai's hair. "And are you saying education isn't important? God, Bild would love to hear that quote, every Otto from Siemens would jump upon the chance to say,  _these sports stars and their arrogance..._ "

"I'm not saying education isn't important!" Kai said hastily. "I know that I need it and stuff, like I can't rely on football forever, because I'll have to retire when I get to a certain point. Unless I become like Oli Kahn and be a pundit! No, actually, that would be stupid. I'd have to do something else. I did super well in my Abitur anyway!" 

"What did you do your subjects on?" Bernd asked absent-mindedly.

Julian looked even more annoyed, and Kai looked surprised, having told Bernd all about his results when he had finished the exams when Bernd had been with them. 

"Uhm, Deutsch, Geschichte, Physik und Sport," he said. 

"Physics! Goddamn." Bernd gave a low whistle, craning his neck a little bit to keep Marc-Andre in sight. "Couldn't be me." 

 _Being attentive couldn't be you either,_ Julian thought irritably.  _Bernd, you're one of my best friends and  forever my keeper, but I am this close to cutting your head off._

There was a fight to get good seats when they entered the restaurant, Marco and Mats having a shoving match to try and sit next to Sami and Mesut, who both looked confused. There was a free seat next to Miro at one side of the table, and when Thomas saw it, he demanded that Manu swap places with him, because he couldn't put up with 'being in the presence of an innate traitor'. 

Toni sat down next to Jonas, with Jerome sitting opposite him and Marc-Andre sitting next to Jerome in turn, by Leroy, Julian Draxler, Joshua and Leon (he had not so subtly tried to avoid Mario completely). Bernd was furtively dragged into a seat next to Mesut and Sami, with Kai as a result getting a seat  _right opposite_ his idol. 

Basti and Lukas sat by Fips, Basti now smiling somewhat and engaging in conversation a bit more. But it was very clear that he still had something on his mind. Lukas kept glancing at Fips as Basti spoke, hoping to get an explanation out of the captain for why Basti was so upset. Fips just shook his head slightly, indicating that it was something that they both had to talk about. Lukas felt a little bit of nervousness inside of him. This reunion hadn't been the euphoric one had had been hoping for.

Whilst Jerome was busy showing Marc-Andre something to do with Robert on his phone, taunting him about how Robert would be able to get past him in any scenario, Jonas turned to Toni, who was also on his phone. 

He swallowed. He didn't want to distract Toni from what he was looking at. Plus he didn't really know what to say. So he settled for reaching for a glass of water instead. But Toni seemed to notice Jonas had been looking at him, because he spoke up. 

"I'm just talking to Jessica," he explained a little unnecessarily loudly. Jonas choked on a sip of his water, Toni's sudden increase of volume catching him off guard. Toni slapped him on the back. 

"Cool!" Jonas said, once he had recovered. "Um, what about? I mean, uh, you don't have to tell me, that's nosy of me, hah-" 

"It's alright," Toni said awkwardly. "We're just talking about, um, the match against the Netherlands. She's bringing Leon to come and see us play, she has time off work..." 

Jonas smiled. "Leon, your son?"

"No, that idiot over there," Toni said dryly, gesturing at where Leon Goretzka was hanging off Jerome's back to see the video of Robert Jerome was showing Marc-Andre. "Yeah, my son. Leon will be so happy, he loves being on planes, too, though I feel sorry for Jess, she'll have to deal with him squirming with excitement for the whole flight.  He jumps on my knees on planes, always saying, _Papa, Papa, clouds, papa, big hills!_ I don't know where he got it from, to be honest, when  _I_ was a kid I used to be scared as hell of planes-"

Jonas was looking at Toni with a fond smile- Toni's whole face seemed to have softened whilst talking about his son, and he was talking far more than he usually did.

"- but it makes my life easier, anyway, better to have him be over-eager than to have him be scared. When he's scared of something it just  _has_ to be removed from the vicinity otherwise he'll totally freeze up. On fireworks nights he used to hide behind my back until it was all over, so I had to take him away and play with him because I didn't want him feeling scared. I don't think he likes big bangs. He was scared of  _balloons_ at one point.  _Balloons!_ "

"Because they pop?" Jonas laughed. 

"Probably," Toni agreed. "He's a better with it now, thank God."

"I was going to say," Jonas said thoughtfully. "If he doesn't like big bangs, how did he put up with the Bernabeu? It seems like the loudest stadium on Earth." 

"Don't tell the Bundesliga lot that," Toni said dryly. "And that's why I think he's better with it now. He got used to it. Jess tells me he's impossible to keep still in the stands during games, especially when he realises I have the ball. He gets so excited." 

"Awww," Jonas chuckled. "That's so sweet! I remember when he was one of the kids for the national anthem during our Spain friendly, you had to keep one arm around him to make sure he didn't get away!" 

"Yeah, he's very hyperactive," Toni said. "But I also kept an arm around him because I was so happy he was on the pitch with me I wanted to hug him for the whole time." 

Jonas could have quite possibly died with how cute that statement was. Toni seemed to realise how...  _soft_ he had just sounded and he turned slightly pink. 

"That was the cutest thing I've ever heard. You and Leon are so sweet!" Jonas said, actually placing a hand on his chest. "He's an adorable little kid, and you're an adorable dad." 

Toni flushed more and shrugged, smiling.

Across the table, there was a far less...  _sweet_ conversation going on. For not the first and not the last time, a huge argument about the merits and disadvantages of Bundesliga rivalries had sprung up again. 

"Ok, Höwedes, you fucking ring-binder, you think that you can win this season's Revierderby even when you're fucking  _thirteenth?_ " Marco was laughing so hard he was choking on his pasta. "Who are you playing as your strikers at the moment? The likes of Weston McKennie and Hamza Mendyl?  _Your fucking midfielder and left-back?_ Oh, the hot squad depth right there-"

"All six of our strikers are injured!" Benni yelled. "You can't preach about squad depth when we've got an injury crisis like that! Boateng, injured, Nico, injured, everyone! But by the time Revierderby comes around everyone will be back on their feet, so you can't use that argument to say who will win!"

"Your entire squad is so fucking injury prone-"

"Dortmund had the likes of Aubameyang and they still couldn't win a goddamn thing, squad depth my left testicle-" 

"So the DFB Pokal is the equivalent of a community shield, huh-"

"You can't criticise Schalke for having no squad depth," Mats interjected. Everyone sensed that this was a mistake. "They were so stacked before, with Manu, Leon, Leroy, Mesut, Julian, everyone like that, but their board acted as a selling club, it's not their fault. Dortmund is a selling club too, don't forget that, you guys are just in a lucky spot right now." 

"Oh, fuck _off_ out of my life!" Marco said furiously. "You absolute  _cunt,_  sticking up for  _Schalke!_ Young talent comes to us and we  _make_ them, lucky my ass-"

"That doesn't stop your board selling everyone to Bayern, or to the Premier League-" 

"Schalke did the same thing! Kolasinac, Rakitic, all the Germans who didn't want to stay at that shithole-" 

Julian Draxler, Leon, Leroy and Manu winced horribly. Mesut just shrugged blithely. Benni had one hand on his knife.

"Dortmund isn't a desirable club to stay at either," Mats said with a shrug. "And your financial situation is so shit that your board won't be able to resist selling all the talent you have-" 

"Bayern are fucking leeches-"

"Bayern gave you guys money when you were heading to bankruptcy! You're in a dream world, Marco! Stop feeling so hard-done by when you know it's your club's own fault! Even your own boyfriend preferred to go to a club that was more stable-" 

"Don't you _dare-_ " Marco began, looking livid. 

"Alright, okay!" Fips announced. "That's enough of that talk! We're not here to argue club disputes, we're playing for the  _same team._ I mean it, Reus and Höwedes! And you, Hummels!" 

Mats shrugged, sucking up some noodles with relish. Benni looked pleased that for once his club's worst enemy was being set upon instead of his.

Marco looked  _furious._

But Mario wasn't a part of this conversation, having instead engaged with Mesut, Sami, Bernd, Kai and Julian.

"What did you feel in your heart when you found out ter Stegen was coming, eh?" Sami asked, nudging Bernd right in the ribs. "Why don't you tell us how you really  _feel?_ The  _truth?_ You only get a few opportunities to tell us in person how much you  _hate_ him." 

Bernd tried to communicate what he was going to do to Sami and Mesut individually when they were out of the view of others with a look, but unfortunately they didn't seem to get the message. 

"Yeah, _they come and go before you know it_ ," Mesut jumped in. Sami gave a high-pitched giggle. "Come on, tell us, you  _owe_ it to us."

 _I am going to rip your testicles off your bodies and string them up into a fucking lute,_ Bernd thought serenely. 

"Yeah, I'm interested to know how you're feeling about this," Mario said casually. "I mean, you literally used to tell me every second of the day how much you despised him with your whole heart-" 

"Yeah, you really, really hate him, don't you?" Kai supplied helpfully. "When you didn't get the call-up that one time and we were playing FIFA, you made me pick Barcelona so you could-" 

"Okay!" Bernd said very loudly, making Kai jump, and the whole table reeled around to stare at them. "What are you looking at, you ugly bastards? Go back to your conversations!" 

Everyone shrugged and did just that. Marc-Andre and Bernd met eyes for a fraction of a moment before they looked away again.

Mesut was beside himself with laughter. "Oh my fucking God, Kai, is that true-?" 

"Yeah, he wanted to score past-!" Kai said, but Bernd cut him off by slapping a hand over his mouth. 

"Okay well the reason I haven't been complaining that much about Marc-Andre ter Stegen is because I didn't want to sound like a broken record but if you really want me to go through all the reasons I hate that ugly bastard I can go through it right now in excruciating detail!" Bernd said in one breath. 

"Do it," Sami said brightly. 

 _Right,_ Bernd thought.  _You've pushed my hand. Kai, take it away._

"Did you know," Bernd said thoughtfully. "That me and _Oli_ were having a conversation about penalty instincts the other day, and he told me that he'd find it easier to get past Marc-Andre than me, because _I_ am the prime penalty saver in this squad?"

"What the hell does Giroud know? Has he ever even had a penalty against Barcelona?" Sami snorted.

After an encouraging look from Julian, Kai jumped in. 

"I think Giroud would be able to get past anyone, he's such a good striker!" he said brightly. He didn't quite believe his own words, but it seemed to be along the lines of what Julian wanted him to say. "Even Manu!"

Sami's eyebrows left his face. "You think so, do you,  _kid?_ " 

Kai faltered. "I- Well, I don't really know, but he'd probably able to knock them out with how good looking he is so they wouldn't even be  _able_ to save it!"

Mesut laughed. "You've got a point, kid. Subasic said that himself."

A muscle was jumping so hard in Sami's jaw that Julian was sure his whole face would just fall apart. Mario was bright red in the face with his restrained laughter, and Bernd sat back peacefully, pleased that things were going his way.

Sami reacted in a way nobody expected. He leaned forwards, making Kai flinch, but he wasn't looking at Kai at all, he was looking down the table.

"Hey, Manu!" he called. Manu was busy fending off Thomas' poking so he didn't look up at first. "HEY! Neuer!" 

Manu glanced over at Sami. "What'd you want?" 

"If Giroud was going to take a penalty against you, do you think you'd be so knocked out by his beauty you wouldn't be able to save it?" Sami asked. 

Julian, Bernd, Mesut and Mario cringed, but Kai looked excited. 

Manu looked disgusted. 

"Would I be knocked out by his beauty? Would I  _not_ be able to save it? Do you want death, Sami? Do you _really_ think I wouldn't be able to save his tame penalties, not that he takes many of them anyway? Do you think my gayness would affect my keeping? Do you think  _anything_ would be able to affect my keeping? Did I get to my position by factoring in idiotic things like  _beauty_ into my saves? I'm not fucking Leno or ter Stegen, I am a  _professional,_ and if you're suggesting-" 

"I'm not suggesting anything!" Sami said, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "It was the kid who said it first, I was just curious to know if you agreed." 

Manu gave Kai a dirty look. Kai was practically under the table. Bernd's plan had sort of backfired.

"Well, you've got your answer, Havertz." Manu turned back to Thomas, who was had his face in his hand. "Fucking little twit."

"Manu," Thomas told him. "You know you were meant to agree with Kai, right? And mock Sami about Giroud?"

Manu looked confused, and then enlightened. "Shit, you're right. That was a missed opportunity, wasn't it, Thommy? My bad, I've just been facing a lot of criticism recently." 

"You and your pride. You're going to have to apologise to him for that later," Thomas scolded him.

Mesut had watched the scene whilst laughing. He turned to Kai, who was being soothed by Julian. 

"Well, at least we know we're safe when we face France," he said. "Manu is above normal keepers, though, he's not really human- the rest of us aren't so lucky."

Mario lost it. Bernd smirked. Sami looked furious. 

Marc-Andre, funnily enough, was actually suffering less than Bernd was at the moment. Those he was sitting nearby weren't actually harassing him about Bernd- they were harassing him about a whole host of other things instead. And he was grateful for it. 

"So there you have it," Jerome said, sitting back, turning off his phone once the video was done and shaking Leon off of his back. "Robert would be able to score every single shot he could take against you. You're a fraud of a goalkeeper, and I don't want you to  _ever_ suggest that you could stop him again." 

"I didn't," Marc-Andre said weakly. Jerome had just been looking for an excuse to brag about Robert.

"Marc-Andre can stop every shot _Toni's_ team puts in, though," Leroy said, slinging an arm around his friend's shoulder in his defence. 

"Yeah, but Toni's team is  _Real Madrid,_ " Jerome said in disgust. "Anyone can stop them. And what do you mean, he can stop every shot they put in? He conceded a goal from their left-back. Lost his clean sheet just like that." 

Toni was too busy showing Jonas pictures of his son to hear the conversation, so Jerome's bait was left floating in the sea of stupidity. Marc-Andre slid so low down in his chair that only his eyebrows were visible from the table. Leroy patted his head, knowing there was nothing he could do to protect him further, because he'd probably end up getting eviscerated too. There were certain battles that you just had to accept were fruitless. Plus, there were worse things Marc could be experiencing right now. 

Mario Gomez was also experiencing a reality that was different from what he had been expecting. Every negative thought he had ever had since the international break had ended had somehow ended up in the shadowy corners of his mind, and he was now feeling so... happy. 

 _Don't,_ his mind implored him. _You know you can't keep turning away. You're in a fucking loop, Gomez._

_Shut up._

"I don't know if I should score again for Germany this break," Miro sighed, stirring his spoon in his soup. "It just brings up such a dilemma. My international statistics so far are perfect. 71 goals, last one scored during 7-1, in Brazil, beating the record of a Brazilian... If I broke it, it would just be so unsatisfying..." 

"You are  _so annoying,_ Klose," Mario laughed. "Imagine being conflicted about whether you should score or not because your stats are  _perfect_  at the moment.You really do have that much audacity, huh?" 

"Success is fickle..." Miro said wisely. "I can't help being me, Mario, this is just how I am." 

Thomas glared at Miro across the table. "You wait, Opa. I'm going to break your World Cup goalscoring record and I'm going to break your Germany goalscoring record too. You've gone unchecked for too long, it's time for you to learn your place." 

"Have you been holding back this whole time?" Miro laughed. "How sweet, not scoring so you wouldn't beat my records." 

"It's  _true,_ " Thomas insisted. "Don't be  _sardonic,_ Miroslav. I've haven't unleashed my full potential out of respect for you. But seeing as I don't get any respect in return, maybe it's time I stop being so kind and focus on myself." 

Miro chuckled and slung an arm around Mario's shoulders. "You'll have to watch out for Mario, Mülli. He's back on form now and he'll be looking to break some records himself." 

Thomas gave Mario a filthy look. "Talk to me when he's first in the Bundesliga and has scored ten goals in two World Cups." 

Miro extended his other arm to give Mario a reassuring hug as the man glumly retreated away from the world- under the table, just like Marc-Andre.

Overall, there was a definite sense of... a return to order, about the atmosphere in the restaurant with them all together again. 'Order' being chaos, bickering and pettiness of course. Although they had all been apart for so long, being together again for just an hour or so was enough for them to fall back into their same old routines- fighting, joking and being fucking idiots.

***

_Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Robert Lewandowski_

**Robert:** Lol guess what

 **Jerome:** what

 **Robert:** Guess what Jerzy talked to us about

 **Jerome:** what

 **Robert:** Guess

 **Jerome:** no fucking tell me u donkey

 **Robert:** What have I been moping about for about 6 weeks straight

 **Jerome:** oh

 **Robert:** Mm

 **Robert:** He talked about that night vs P******

 **Jerome:** what did he say

 **Robert:** Oh, just that if we put in a performance like that again we could kiss our hopes of international tournament qualification goodbye

 **Robert:** I mean he's right lol

 **Robert:** He also came directly for me :) 

 **Jerome:** what did he say about u? 

 **Robert:** "You are the captain" 

 **Robert:** "And you disgraced the team with your performance last time" 

 **Robert:** "And if you keep putting in games like that you'll risk losing the armband" 

 **Robert:** :)

 **Jerome:** what the fuck

 **Jerome:** how can he say that

 **Jerome:** one game doesn't fucking mean u play like that all the time

 **Jerome:** u were the top scorer of the euros qualifiers

 **Jerome:** that was the first time anything like this has ever happened

 **Jerome:** im actually angry wtf

 **Robert:** I mean he has a point

 **Jerome:** no he doesn't 

 **Jerome:** wtf

 **Jerome:** how does he have a point that's such a reactionary thing to say

 **Jerome:** so if m*ssi's team conceded 6 and he got a red does that mean he's a bad player 

 **Jerome:** no! it just means he had a bad day

 **Jerome:** plus who the fuck does he think he is

 **Jerome:** he's the coach! if the team lost so badly clearly there was something wrong with his tactics! 

 **Jerome:** he can't just pin it on u

 **Jerome:** football is a goddamn team sport

 **Robert:** But my performance was shit

 **Robert:** Seriously he couldn't control my mistakes 

 **Robert:** That game was on me

 **Jerome:** how can u say that

 **Jerome:** so it's ur fault u got exposed on the counter b/c the defense wasn't awake ?

 **Jerome:** i dont get this mentality of trying to blame one person for a collective bad result

 **Jerome:** do you blame wojciech for conceding? 

 **Robert:** No but 

 **Robert:** He couldn't help his mistakes

 **Robert:** I got reckless and I made those two stupid challenges 

 **Robert:** Missed the pen

 **Jerome:** patricio saved it u didn't msis it

 **Jerome:** it's luck and timing and sometimes u dont have a good day

 **Jerome:** simple as that

 **Jerome:** if u keep thinking like this ur on the road to not succeeding more 

 **Jerome:** my love i know, i know, i know how humiliating it was

 **Jerome:** and i know how shit it must feel to have jerzy say that bullshit to u

 **Jerome:** but u need to move forwards ok 

 **Jerome:** you're facing italy 

 **Jerome:** it's a whole new slate 

 **Jerome:** if u can get 3 points u are still safe

 **Robert:** I know I'm sorry I keep going on about it

 **Robert:** It must be so annoying

 **Jerome:** it's not 

 **Jerome:** it's just worrying me that you're letting it impact ur confidence so much

 **Jerome:** bad results can do such bad things to players mentally and i dont want that to happen to u and i don't want u to start having delusions that its all ur fault

 **Jerome:** ur the guy who stood shirtless on top of the kitchen table before we faced real madrid and informed me u were going to make ronaldo ur bitch!

 **Robert:** Lmao Jeri do you want me to die

 **Robert:** Because I'll do it if you bid me

 **Robert:** That confidence punished me 

 **Jerome:** negative mindsets punish more

 **Jerome:** that sort of thinking used to give me daily panic attacks 

 **Jerome:** the whole poisonous cycle of "i made mistakes, my game is impacted, ive lost form, it wont end" its fucking horrible rob

 **Jerome:** i stopped wanting to fucking play

 **Jerome:** i really want u to try and break out of this and recognise that ur letting it consume u 

 **Robert:** I want to go home lol

 **Robert:** I love you

 **Robert:** I know you're right but it's hard for me to accept it

 **Jerome:** i know <3 

 **Jerome:** it's hard to break out of toxic thinking patterns and like, it's hard being relentlessly optimistic

 **Jerome:** but u have to start somewhere

 **Jerome:** start by fucking thinking ur gonna win this shit

 **Jerome:** make buffon cry 

 **Jerome:** like he's made us cry :'(

 **Robert:** I'll try I am trying Jeri the mind works in weird ways and fixates on weird things sometimes 

 **Jerome:** i know you're trying i'm not blaming u

 **Jerome:** just know that 

 **Jerome:** sometimes you just have to wait for things to get better. look at thomas man. he had a dry spot and everyone started talking nonsense saying he was finished and he wasn't good enough anymore

 **Jerome:** now look at him! playing behind you and putting in the key passes EVERYWHERE

 **Jerome:** it's the same for u and poland ok

 **Robert:** Ok yes, you're right, fuck I'm gonna channel Thommy's willpower and Marco's audacity and your love and I'm just gonna stop fucking whining

 **Jerome:** u can still vent to me whenever ur having these thoughts baby

 **Jerome:** i wanna know if ur feeling like this i dont want u to feel like this in silence

 **Jerome:** im here for you

 **Robert:** Damn right I love you so FUCKING mcuh

 **Robert:** Wahey I have to go 

 **Robert:** I love you i love you I love you

 **Robert:** Talk to you later ok <333 

 **Jerome:** <3333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i am a terrible person and immediately included toni being an Adorable Soft Dad because i have no self control.
> 
> abitur is the german exams,,  
> kai's abitur is what i did lol. i did okay to be honest! but im so glad im out of school.
> 
> i feel like this chap was really crowded and stuff uh its not good is it :(


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no. 2  
> part 4!

"Toni, Junge, you know I love you, right?"

Toni had been feeling perfectly calm until he had heard those words come out of Jerome's mouth. The two of them had been happily discussing the differences between the Mavericks and the Warriors (i.e. debating the superiority of either side and insulting each other for their team preference) as the squad headed towards the hotel they were to be staying at, but just as they approached the building, Jerome had grabbed Toni's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. 

"What?" Toni asked warily. Jerome was looking shifty and also rather awkward, which was most unusual, as the man never,  _ever_ thought before opening his mouth normally. At least with Toni he didn't.

"You know I love you, don't you?" Jerome repeated. Toni narrowed his eyes. "And that I'd stick with you throughout anything, and would  _never_ leave a club I was with you at for a team which beat us 4-0 at home in the Champions League-"

"Jesus, Jeri," Toni said, instantly suspicious, mostly because Jerome looked guilty even as he tried to roast. "Trying to guilt trip me and butter me up all at once, this sounds familiar. So, what morally ambiguous task do you want me to carry out with you this time?" 

" _Instantly_ thinking I want you to do something for my own gain. A fine way to view our friendship, Mr Kroos-" 

Jerome didn't quite have the same energy as Marco did when being melodramatic to cover his own tracks, so one look from Toni deftly cut through his mumbling. 

" _Ugh,_ " Jerome laughed, under the pressure of Toni's blasé expression. "It's nothing suspicious. I just feel bad about it." 

"What is it?" Toni asked flatly. "If you don't tell me now, I'll cut your ears off." 

"Well," Jerome said, after a moment of fidgeting. "You know how we're usually roommates, literally every international break?" 

"Yeah." 

"And how I really do love being roommates with you and I always miss you loads when you're at the shithole that is Madrid and that I always _want_ to be your roommate?" Jerome continued. 

"Mm." He thought he knew where this was going. 

"Well, this time is no different," Jerome said. "But there's a little wrench that's been thrown into-"

"Boateng, if you don't get the fuck out with it, I am going to take a football and place it up your-" 

"Okay, okay!" Jerome genuinely looked really guilty. "Well, the rest of us were talking about ter Stegen and Leno, and how we think it's really hilarious that they both got called up together and stuff."

"I think Leno should have gotten called up first."

"Shut up, you biased Real Madrid Honk, nobody cares about your opinion," Jerome said without missing a beat, and then he looked distracted. "What was I saying? Oh, ter Stegen and Leno! So they're both part of the squad now, and weird shit is going on, and they're being sort of  _suspicious,_ in my eyes, which nobody else but Mario, Manu and I seem to see. But anyway, we were discussing how to maximise the jokes that are going to come out of this break, so, we sort of want to orchestrate things... so they end up rooming together?"

"Of course you do." 

"Mm. And you know how Marc-Andre usually rooms with Leroy-" 

"I get it," Toni said, waving a hand to stop this overly convoluted explanation. "You want to room with Leroy so Marc-Andre will have no choice but to room with Bernd." 

Jerome looked somewhat uncomfortable.

"I don't  _want_ to, I really  _do_ want to room with  _you-_ " he began earnestly.

"It's  _fine,_ Boateng," Toni said, although he felt a strange sense of loss at the same time. He couldn't remember the last time he  _hadn't_ roomed with Jerome. "I can survive not rooming with you. It's probably for the best, anyway. If I had to hear one more late night conversation with Lewandowski, I'd have been liable to snap." 

"You will still snap!" Jerome promised him. "Because you'll have to deal with me talking to him during the day! Because we'll be able to talk for literally the whole day and stuff, it's just the-"

"Seriously, Jerome, it's _fine_ ," Toni repeated, cutting off Jerome's babbling, because Jerome's expression was making _him_ uncomfortable now. "You don't need to feel guilty or whatever. It's not like you're telling me you hate me and never want to talk to me ever again. You just want to room with someone else this break, that's fine. I  _am_ an adult, you know, I won't storm off and start crying. You feel bad about the stupidest things, sometimes."

Jerome slung an arm around Toni's shoulder, leaning his whole weight on the man so Toni nearly collapsed. 

"It's because I   _love_ you, Junge!" he complained loudly, although he also looked somewhat relieved.  "That's why I feel bad about not rooming with you! You're my second bestest friend in the world!" 

"Who's the first?" Toni asked wryly, trying to push Jerome off of him but being forced to put up with the excessive physical affection because the man was too strong. "Wait, no, I don't know why I-"

"I'm glad you asked!" Toni sighed as Jerome suddenly let go of him and spread his arms wide melodramatically. "He's often regarded as the best striker in world football, having transferred from Lech- HEY, TONI! Get back here and let me finish!"

Toni ignored him as he lugged his suitcases behind him and started moving towards the rest of the team again. There was only so much bragging about Lewandowski he could take... for a lifetime. Maybe this roommate situation actually  _would_ be a good thing.

When they rejoined the rest of the team, everyone was incredibly on-edge- nobody wanted to start the  _roommates_ discussion without Jerome in the vicinity, because they were afraid Leroy and Marc-Andre would end up together instead of Marc-Andre with Bernd, whilst Bernd and Marc-Andre were afraid they'd have to deliberately seek out somebody other than each other to room with to evade suspicion. The second he appeared, however, Marco recognised he was to start the chaos, and he immediately shouted, "Mario's mine!" 

All the gays latched onto each other at once, acting as if it was somehow a revelation that they wanted to room with one another. Kai was bouncing on the balls of his feet by Julian, and Leon was beaming toothily at Fips, who was rolling his eyes hard (though he really was fond of the stupid boy). And then there was Bernd and Marc-Andre, both looking incredibly awkward, with Mesut and Sami watching them both absolutely paralysed with silent laughter- they were being  _so_ _obvious,_ they were so clearly waiting for everyone to be matched up so they would have 'no choice' but to room with each other.

Toni walked up to Jonas, who looked a little puzzled to see him. 

"Want to room with me?" he asked neutrally, trying to ignore the fact that his face was heating up, because sometimes he could be fucking garbage at talking to people, even about something as simple as asking to be roommates. Being with Jerome for all these years meant he hadn't really done it too much.

Jonas blinked, making Toni ready to accept rejection, but then he brightened a moment later.

"Sure!" he said cheerfully, though he also looked somewhat confused. "I'd love to! But- but don't you usually room with Jerome? Not that it matters, though!" 

"I- I do, yeah. But this time the idiots had a _plan,_  so I managed to get rid of him _._ Look at who's left over," Toni said, gesturing at where Jerome had Leroy trapped in a headlock and then to two conspicuous people who hadn't found a partner yet. "The interfering bastards' scheme worked out."

Jonas's confusion remained, before realisation struck and a grin that was surprisingly _devilish_ stole onto his face. 

"Natürlich," he said softly, his eyes lingering on the two of them. "They just can't leave well enough alone."

"You've got that right," Toni muttered. 

The chatter had died down somewhat as everybody 'realised' who the last two to be paired up were. Sami was hugging Mesut, who was laughing so hard he was crying, and Leroy was  _glad_ Jerome was smothering him with his playful wrestling at the moment, because Jesus Christ, he was so  _nonsensically_ close to the edge...

"Oh!" Kai whispered to Julian, who was smirking. "Bernd's gonna be so mad!" 

Manu and Mario were both folding their arms and squinting again. Marco and Mats were both, for the first time in their lives, sharing appreciative looks, pleased that their meddling had worked. Fips did what Fips always did. 

He sighed. 

Bernd was staring hard at Marc-Andre, who was staring at him almost frantically back. They were both well aware they needed to say something disparaging right now, but Marc-Andre wasn't exactly being helpful, having completely frozen up. Bernd could've screamed at him, he wasn't exactly making things easier for them both. 

So Bernd had to do what he always did. Take matters into his own hands and  _wing_ it. 

"Wollen Sie mich verarschen?" he said, in an actually very convincingly disgusted tone. He had had practice over the years, after all. "You all think you're very funny, don't you?"

Manu and Mario's eyes remained narrowed, but some of the others dubious relaxed at this very familiar display of hostility. Kai was gnawing at his thumbnail, looking nervous.

"I am  _not_ accepting this," Bernd announced. "I'd quite literally rather die than room with... _this_. Mesut, you room with me, I don't care if you and Sami want to fuck or whatever, you're my roommate now." 

As everyone snorted, Bernd gave Mesut a look that said,  _say no or die._

Mesut spluttered, a little taken aback by Bernd's conviction, while Sami turned scarlet. "First of all... what? _No._ Take that thought and... put it in the bin. What the fuck. And second of all, I'm sure as _hell_ not going to be your roommate. You're going to have to live with this, Leno."

"I am decidedly not," Bernd said simply. He needed to overdo it a little. "Are you all fucking kidding me?" 

"No," Marco said sweetly. "We're not. Everyone else is  _taken._ " 

"I-" Bernd turned to Fips, realised it was a mistake because the captain would agree with him, and so turned to the person with the next level of authority who would make sure he and Marc-Andre got to room together- Basti. "Schweinsteiger, I-" 

"Sorry, Bernd," Basti said softly. Lukas gave him a look, indicating he shouldn't be too forceful with the midfielder (Bernd hadn't planned to be). "It looks like you're just going to have to deal with it." 

Bernd looked horrified. He really was a fairly impressive actor, more than Sami had given him credit for (given that he hadn't displayed any of those skills upon first seeing his _boyfriend_ ). The only problem was _Marc-Andre._

Marc-Andre was threatening to ruin all of Bernd's hard work in making things appear to be normal and hateful between them- he had completely frozen up. He seemed to have absolutely no idea what to say. Even when Bernd gave him a pointed look to indicate he should fucking _say something_ , he just sort of opened his mouth and closed it like a fish instead.

"Look at him," Lukas said loudly, because he was sensing everyone starting to grow suspicious. "In fucking  _shock._ His dream has finally come true. He gets to room with Leno."

 _It's a prompt, ter Stegen, you buffoon,_ he thought irritably as Marc-Andre blinked at him.  _You're meant to say something cutting in response!_

"Well, wake him the fuck up," Bernd said flatly. "Ugly bastard could have used a reality check or two a long time ago anyway."

 _Why are you looking hurt, you idiot?_ Bernd could have cried with exasperation as Marc-Andre shot him a wounded look.  _This is what we're meant to be doing!_

"Ich- ich glaube es nicht," Marc-Andre stammered,  _finally._ "Das ist ein  _Witz._ Der größte Witz. Absolut nicht. Leroy-" 

"Ne, ne, ne," Jerome said before Leroy could respond, scrubbing the top of Leroy's head fondly. "He's  _my_ roomie. Hands off." 

"Sorry, bro," Leroy choked out through his restrained laughter, though he wasn't sorry at all. "I've been booked already." 

"You  _never_ room with Jerome normally! You all did this on purpose!" Bernd snapped. He didn't mention that he was  _thankful_ for it. Leroy shrugged.

Bernd was now sensing it was time to draw this shitshow to a close, so he snatched up his suitcases, set to storm off.

"Es ist ein  _Witz-_ " he snarled at them all, making sure to direct it particularly at Marc-Andre, who still looked a little shell-shocked.

He stalked away from them all, relaxing a little as he heard their laughter behind him. Okay, so they were revelling in the pain they thought they had caused him. Thank God. It seemed they were safe for now-

But Marc-Andre! He was proving to be a bigger problem than the actual team. Bernd was sure he'd be able to convince them with  _his_ performances, but Marc-Andre was liable to make the team start investigating every aspect of the two's existence with how  _obvious_ he was. Bernd knew the idiot was clumsy with expressing himself, but he didn't think it would be  _that_ bad. They were going to rip him apart.

Indeed, Mario and Manu were already on his case, their hawk-like gazes trapping Marc-Andre, who could only stammer incoherently before grabbing his own suitcases and meekly following Bernd.

Sami and Mesut were losing their fucking minds. Leroy felt  _so_ sorry for his friend, but also felt he deserved this torment with how useless he was being. There was no doubt Bernd was carrying this thing on his shoulders.

Kai looked anxiously after the 'angry' Bernd. "He looked so mad, Jule... Do you think that we should swap with-" 

"No," Julian said firmly. "This is the most perfect thing that could've happened. This is going to be _so_  fucking funny." 

Jerome came up to Toni,  grabbing him around the shoulders and shaking him. 

"D'you see why I had to do it, now?" he said, quaking with mirth. "Look at this, look at what we helped to create-"

"Yeah, yeah," Toni said. "I see your reasoning now, Boateng. Watching ter Stegen squirm is one of the finer things I like to appreciate in life." 

Jerome gave him a weird look. "When do _you_ ever get to see him do that?" 

Toni hit him. 

As everyone was very happy with their rooming arrangements, there was not a great deal of fuss as they all headed up to their rooms- barring from Mats and Marco, of course. Fortunately for Fips, who was right behind them as they made their way up the stairs, Benni had the foresight to drag Mats away just as Marco opened his mouth to get revenge for the comments of earlier.

Mario Gomez was, for the first time in weeks, feeling at  _ease._ As he and Miro entered the room they would be staying in until they departed for the Netherlands for their first international away game of the new season, he wondered why he had ever been so anxious about seeing Miro again. Things were just like they normally were- he and Miro were happily chattering about the Bundesliga (Miro helpfully restraining himself from shit-talking Stuttgart, though Mario knew  _that_ wouldn't last for long), the positives and negatives of away fixtures, and how they felt about the Netherlands and France. Mario had just thought of a very good joke about van Dijk and he was about to say it when Miro spoke up first.

"Oh, did I tell you?" he said, as he placed his luggage on the first bed in the room. "I spoke to Sylwia before I left, about the France game, not the Netherlands game, and she said she's on leave at work then, so she's going to get tickets for her, Luan and Noah to see us away!" 

Mario dropped his suitcase on his foot.

"DU HORENSOHN!" he bellowed, that being the first thing that sprung to his miserable mind. "VERDAMMTER KOFFER- no, I'm okay, I'm okay! I just- idiot suitcase-" 

He kicked the suitcase. It didn't fall over. 

"Wow!" Mario said a little too loudly once had recovered, hurling his suitcase on his bed after cursing it some more. "Sylwia- and Luan and Noah- they're coming to see our game, huh? That's great. Lovely!  _Fantastisch!_ "

"Apparently they positively fell apart with excitement," Miro said with a wry smile, looking totally indifferent to Mario's momentary diversion from being a regular, functioning human being. "I can't imagine what they'll be like on the flight to Paris, but I'm happy they're coming anyway. They've been itching to see Germany play again for a  _long_ time..." 

"And now they're coming! To the game! Versus France!" Mario said with a wide grin. "Ende gut, alles gut, ja?" 

"I'm not so sure," Miro laughed. "They'll get to see Marco, Thomas and Mats again, and whenever  _that_ happens it's always six weeks of headaches afterwards. They like to tell me all their  _newfound knowledge..._ _Hey, Vati, guess what I know how to say now? Mats Hummels ist ein Fotze!_ " 

Mario cracked up laughing although he felt as though he had just coughed up his lungs at the same time. "That's what happens when you set Marco Reus loose in the vicinity of impressionable children." 

"Such is my burden to bear," Miro sighed. "Who knows, maybe this time Marco will give them advice about how to be well-disciplined football players." 

Mario gave Miro a disbelieving look. "D'you want him to teach them how to stop fucking global warming as well?" 

Marco most certainly wasn't displaying an aptitude for _discipline_ at the moment. He was busy hurling everything he owned onto his bed without a care in the world about where it landed, determined to get out of the room and straight to eviscerating Mats and Benni for all they had said earlier. 

"Jesus Christ, Marco!" Mario said, as Marco accidentally tossed his jacket in his face. "Slow down, don't you want to tidy this shit-" 

"Ne," Marco said flatly.

Mario understood the look on his face immediately. "Fucking hell. Are you  _already_ looking to cause trouble? It's not even been a day yet." 

"Where was that energy when Hummels and Höwedes were being dickheads? It hadn't been a day for  _them_ either," Marco said, cracking his knuckles. "I'm going to give them a little bit of what I like to call  _karma._ " 

"You were insulting Schalke first," Mario sighed. "Obviously they were going to reciprocate. At least, obviously  _Benni_ was. He's their captain. He can't just sit down and accept whatever shit you say about them." 

"A trait common to all Schalkers. They can't accept the fucking truth," Marco said with a smirk. "But no, the real problem this time is  _Hummels._ I _expected_  Höwedes to cry about me giving him a reality check, but when Hummels interjected with all his preaching bullshit about  _selling clubs?_ He put his foot in it, hard." 

"When does he ever not?" Mario enquired. "His general existence is him putting his foot in it for you." 

"You're right, that's very true, Mario!" Marco said, patting Mario's cheek.

That wasn't exactly what Mario had been going for. 

As Mario dreaded the moment when shit would inevitably hit the fan, Marc-Andre was sharing his sentiment two rooms over. The second the door had closed behind him he had slid down it as if he had just escaped being chased by a horde of wolves. 

Bernd was looking at him as if he had seen Marc-Andre pull his own eyeballs out downstairs. "Jesus Christ, Marc, what the fuck was that!" 

"I'm sorry!" Marc-Andre wailed, holding the back of his head like he had just conceded an own goal. "I don't know what that was, I just totally panicked! I guess I wasn't expecting us to get this far into convincing them nothing's up, I didn't prepare myself to get past this point!" 

"Well, if you keep acting like that, you won't need to prepare! They're  _so_ onto us, now, did you see Manu's face?" Bernd was shaking his head, traumatised. "Lucky for you I'm a fucking brilliant actor, otherwise we would've really been in for it. Fucking Özil and Khedira, too, the absolute  _comedians-_ " 

"Mesut helped us out!" Marc-Andre said fairly. "He said that he wouldn't room with you so it looked like he was condemning you to be with me, your worst enemy! He played along!" 

"Ha! As if he'd want to room with anyone other than Sami," Bernd said scornfully. "They're both such little _bastards_. They were saying all sorts of shit like,  _oh, why don't you tell us how you_ really _feel about Marc-Andre, how much you_ hate  _him,_ thinking they were oh so amusing! Fucking pricks." 

Marc-Andre grinned despite himself. "Leroy was being nice to me... he hasn't tried to throw me under the bus yet." 

"Mark my words, ter Stegen," Bernd said heatedly, marching to unload all his luggage now he had worked off some of his built-up energy by pacing a little. "If Khedira and Özil keep trying to play games, you better  _believe_ I'm throwing  _them_ under the bus and telling them they're in love with each other. Not that it'd fucking matter, anyway. There isn't a bus big enough in the world to make them realise the amount of audacity they have."  

The two were proving Bernd's point at that very moment. Mesut was lying flat on the bed he had claimed, crying with laughter, while Sami just shook his head in awe. 

"The  _state_ of them!" he gasped. "We thought we'd be in agony having to wait for them to finally get the courage to admit to everyone they're together, and then that shit happens! The team will all know by the end of the day!"

"They're  _so obvious!_ " Mesut exclaimed, banging his bed with his fists, he was so overcome by mirth. " _Everyone_ knew something was up straight away! How can two people just be that blatant about something? It's unreal!"

"Unheard of," Sami agreed solemnly. "Unglaublich. Ach, mein Gott, that was a good way to start things off. This international break is going to be so  _good._ " 

Mesut nodded vigorously. "Man, I've been waiting to get to this break for so long  _don't make a pointed comment about Arsenal or I'll throw you out of the window you fucking tissue box-_ " 

Sami closed his mouth. 

"And now we're here!" Mesut finished off his spiel, spreading his arms wide against the bed, looking content. "An international break of pure drama and utter nonsense happening non-stop, what more could I possibly need?" 

"Ter Stegen and Leno being found out," Sami said thoughtfully. "Ah, even if I am glad to be here, the last few weeks  _have_ been wild. All that Barcelona stuff, Jesus Christ, Leno finally confessing, going to Spain to do it, too, him and ter Stegen having  _done_   _did the deed,_ as Leroy so eloquently put it-" 

"It might have been wild for you, but for me it was just a state of permanent heart attack," Mesut grumbled, curling up on the bed, too lazy to retrieve his things. "Getting no word from Barcelona for all that time, Lukas getting all aggressive because we didn't tell him anything in the first place, Unai fucking eviscerating us for being so distracted during training... And..."

He hesitated. Sami looked up at him from where he was separating out some of his things. 

"Well, I missed you," Mesut mumbled, smiling at Sami. 

Sami's eyes creased fondly as he smiled back. "I missed you too, bro."

"It sucks that we never got to see each other during those weeks," Mesut muttered. "I was planning on finding time to go to Turin at some point, but the Premier League is so fucking packed and there was so much to do that I never got round to it." 

"Yeah, things got a little out of hand, sometimes," Sami agreed. "I was thinking of going to London too, but before I knew it all my responsibilities ganged up on me and started kicking the shit out of me." 

Mesut laughed. "Well, we're here now.  _Finally._ " 

Sami wanted to mention all the doubts he had been having over these weeks apart, about all the irrational anger he had felt and how much he had  _missed_ Mesut and how he had even dreamed of his friend playing alongside him beneath the stadium lights and how he wished that it could have all been true, but instead, he just nodded and grinned.

"Our only responsibilities now," he said slyly. "Is orchestrating a way for ter Stegen and Leno to get found out."

"Oh, Sam, Sam, Sam," Mesut said airily, waving a hand. "Haven't we already been through this? The team will know about it by tomorrow morning. There's absolutely nothing we need to do. Some people are just so obvious there's not much interfering required."

"On the contrary, my dear friend," Sami said wisely. "Some people are just so stubborn they  _need_ to be pushed."

***

Whilst everyone else had raced to get together again in order to see Marc-Andre and Bernd's reactions about rooming together, two people weren't joining in. The second they had entered their room, Basti had dissolved into tears again, this time almost uncontrollably.

Lukas whirled around in alarm as he heard the choked sound that came from his boyfriend, and his whole body slumped sadly as he realised Basti was in tears again. He had really thought he had managed to cheer him up earlier. 

"Baby..." he said, opening his arms. Basti walked into them, burying his head into Lukas's chest. "Jesus, Basti... I'm so worried... Can't you tell me what's wrong? Why are you so upset?" 

He managed to lead Basti over to the bed and sat him down. The midfielder tried to talk, but he could only shake his head. 

"You can take your time, sweetheart. I... I just want to know what's  _happened_. You weren't like this when we called before..." Lukas murmured. "Has someone done something to you?" 

Basti shook his head. 

"Are you sure?" Lukas insisted. "Are you sure nobody's laid a finger on you or anything? Or said anything to you? I promise I won't lose my head."

Basti shook his head again, finally opening his mouth to speak. "I p-promise, nobody's done anything to me.  It's nothing like that." 

Lukas shook his head frustratedly. "Then... what  _is_ it? I don't want to pressure you into saying anything, if you don't want to, but if you're hurt, I want to know how to help you." 

"That's the thing, Luki," Basti said in a small voice. "I don't know if you can help me." 

There was something about this that made Lukas's heart stop. 

"W-What does that mean?" Lukas stammered, because his thoughts had suddenly been thrown into a whirlwind. "What do you mean you don't know if I can help you? Jesus, Basti, don't tell me it's something- something to do with your  _health_ or something-"

"No- no!" Basti said quickly, because he had seen Lukas's entire face fill with panic. "Oh, my God, no, no, I'm sorry, I'm so stupid, it's nothing like that at all. I'm completely healthy, Luki, don't worry. Jesus, why can't I just  _say_ it?" 

"Say what?" Lukas pleaded, because he was getting really scared now. "Basti, it's me! I wouldn't ever judge you, I'd never be against you, why are you finding it so hard to talk to me? Please, if something's wrong with you, I want to know!" 

Basti took one look at how anguished Lukas looked and broke down again. What he had been thinking of saying in his mind, the bluntness he had thought about employing in this unavoidable conversation? It went out of the window at once. Just seeing how much Lukas cared was enough to remind Basti about who he was dealing with here-  _cutting things off_ would have been about as easy as cutting his own organs out. 

"Mein Gott," he sobbed. "It's so pitiful. I'm so pathetic."

He fiercely brushed at his eyes and finally, finally cried:

"I  _miss_ you!"

Lukas stared at him, caught off-guard.

" _I miss you,_ " Basti continued more ferociously. " _I miss you so goddamn much._ It's so stupid. All I want to do is spend my whole life with you. But we  _can't_ have that.  Are you seeing how fucking idiotic I am, now? All these weeks where you haven't been here, I've been stewing in my own fucking self-pity about how lonely I am. That's it. I've been thinking about all the memories we've had over our lives, all those youth games and Germany experiences, that 2006, going back-and-forth about whether I loved you or not in my head because you were something  _so different_ in my life that I didn't know what to do, finally sealing the deal with you... I've been thinking about the future where we won't be fit enough to play and have those wild  _experiences_ with this team anymore, that, that I won't be able to cope with  _retirement_ and  _leaving football,_ this sport that I've played with you for  _all this time,_ and having everything  _change,_ for us, myself, for everything. I've been thinking to myself, how long can we keep this up, this  _distance,_  while all of this is happening? It's driving me insane, Luki! I love you so much, but, Jesus, it feels like I can't  _live_ properly without you anymore! It's crazy!" 

He didn't look at Lukas's whitening face as he took a huge gasp and continued.

"I've been going back-and-forth, back-and-forth, saying,  _is it worth it?_ And yes- yes, sometimes it is worth it! Sometimes it's worth more than anything else I could ever have, just having you! But sometimes I think being so... so  _dependent_ on you while you're so far away is just draining me! Can you imagine what would happen if something- if something  _happened_ to you, while we were this far apart? Can you imagine what would happen if something happened to me? How the hell would we be able to live with it? And I know, I know, I should be able to survive, I'm a footballer with a ton of fucking money, boo-hoo, I miss my boyfriend, but at the moment it's too much for me! I feel like- I feel like I want to learn how to let go!"

He finally stopped ranting, his face crumpling again when he saw Lukas's expression.

"Fertig?" Lukas asked quietly after some moments of silence, not bitterly, but because he genuinely wanted to make sure Basti had gotten everything out before he spoke. 

"Ja," Basti mumbled, suddenly so, so tired. "Ja." 

"Okay." 

Lukas stood up. Basti watched him with sudden fear inside of him as the weight disappeared off of the bed. But Lukas wasn't going anywhere. He just started pacing slowly, back and forth. 

It was giving Basti anxiety, the longer he did it. But he let Lukas continue. God knows  _he_ had spent long enough trying to formulate his words, it wouldn't hurt if he gave Lukas time to think now. 

God.

Some timing he had, right? 

Right at the beginning of the first time they had seen each other in over a month, he dropped a bomb like this.

Just as this thought stole into his mind, Lukas finally stopped pacing. Basti hadn't been able to look at his face, so he watched Lukas's trainers draw to a halt. 

"Basti."

Lukas's voice was very calm. 

"Luki."

Basti's was decidedly not.

Lukas crouched down, so he was at eye-level with Basti. He wasn't  _meeting_ Basti's eyes, though. He was staring down at Basti's the carpet beneath his feet. 

"I can't ever stop you from doing what you want," he said quietly. "And I wouldn't ever expect you to let me stop you." 

After a few moments of silence, he continued.

"But I want you to know this. You're not the only one who's been feeling this way." Lukas rubbed his eyes a little. "I've missed you so much too. More than I could possibly even describe. And... sometimes I feel like it's too much too. Sometimes I wonder if we're just trying to desperately cling onto this long-distance thing because if we let go, we'd fucking lose it all. Sometimes I wonder if this was all... just not meant to be." 

Basti's nails were digging into his hand so hard he was surprised there was no blood. 

"But d'you know what  _I_ think when I have thoughts like that?" Lukas murmured.

Basti wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"I think of when I returned to Köln. You remember, don't you? Of course you do. I think of when we had spent those years at Bayern together, and became so close you were more than a brother to me. The Bundesliga had pretty much gone to shit for me- I was barely on the bench, let alone in the first team. I didn't know what to do with myself. Köln called me back and I accepted, because I needed a change of space. Bayern were only too happy to offload me. When you found out- well, Jesus. It was rough." 

In true Basti fashion, many tears had been shed. 

"I think you felt that, now we had created all these memories together, we'd start losing the bond we had made because we were leaving each other. And I felt the same way. Eventually things move forwards, times change and so we have to too. Even though we'd be in the same league, and see each other for matches, we'd be spending all our days with other people, there'd be no more chilling at each other's houses after training sessions and no more...  _us._ It was shit. I genuinely thought things would fall apart.

"But it didn't. It didn't at all. During the international breaks, I felt as though I had never left, that's how close we still were. Even through Galatasary, and then Arsenal, my life felt  _complete_ again, whenever I was with you. Then there were those fucking World Cups, those Euros. Some of the best summers of my life, not only because I was spending them with you, but that was the biggest part of it. Those days were perfect even when we lost, or drew, or had a tough training session. Everything felt  _right_ again. 

"And it was when it was time to separate again that things got hard again. After that summer in 2014, it was almost too much, having spent the best moment of my life with you and then leaving you again. But, d'you know what it made me realise?

"It made me realise how it's not the moments without you I have to focus on. It's those moments when I see you again,  _that's_ what's so fucking important. My heart leaps as if I've scored a World Cup winning goal when I see you after all this time. Nothing can replicate that feeling, of how  _vital_ you are to me. If I didn't have that sunshine at the end of the tunnel that is not having you, Jesus, I would have wilted away a long time ago. And d'you know what that tells me? Whenever I think it wasn't meant to be?"

Basti stared at him wordlessly. 

"That the fact that whenever we see each other after all this time, I feel better again, means that this was the  _only_ thing meant to be. Us loving each other. If it wasn't... then I would've stopped feeling like this long ago. I would've been able to let go by now." 

Lukas stood up again, so abruptly that it almost made Basti flinch, and turned away from him. Basti stared up at him, but Lukas wasn't moving, he just had his arm raised.

Basti realised he was crying when he spoke.

"I won't stop you if you want to... if you want to let go, so you stop feeling so broken when we're apart. I won't. If you think that it'd help you, then I'll support you all the way." 

"Jesus!" Basti said, getting to his feet and practically colliding into Lukas's back, flinging his arms around his boyfriend's waist. "No! I couldn't! Gott verdammt, Lukas.  _Everything_ you said... I feel the exact same way.  You've  _always_ thought about a happy future, Luki, that's why you're so happy all the time. That's what  _I_ should be doing. Instead of just dwelling miserably on the present and the past." 

"It's not your fault-" 

"Yes it is!" Basti said fiercely. "It is! All I've been thinking about is how to get rid of this... this  _current_ problem so I don't feel so shit  _now,_ but I haven't been thinking about how things always change when you're here, about how if I just hold on I get so much happiness."

"Basti, you shouldn't just let what I say-" 

"This was  _exactly_ what I needed!" Basti said earnestly. "All this time I  was being such a fucking idiot, thinking that if I heard what you had to say it would just break me apart and that it would make things so much harder for me. But it's done the exact opposite! This... this was what I needed to hear! Schweinsteiger, du Honk, du Schlappschwanz!"

"Basti-"

Basti silenced him by kissing him. It was wonderful, but he could also sense  _nervousness_ from Lukas. When he drew apart, he stared at his boyfriend. 

"What is it?" he asked, because Lukas looked uncomfortable. "What is it, Luki, what's the matter?" 

"I just don't want to feel like I've manipulated you," Lukas said frustratedly. "It's your decision to make, I don't want you feeling so sad when we're not together, my way doesn't work for everyone, we're not all the same-"

" _Manipulated_ me?" Basti said in disbelief. "Luki, you've made me see the truth. I'd be fucking sadder if I broke things off with you when we were apart, I can assure you that. You've made me feel  _better._ And you're not the only one. Fips was the one who said that when I saw you I'd find more reasons for wanting to stay with you than reasons that we should stay apart." 

"Fips?"

" _Fips,_ " Basti said happily. "He was the person who finally made me realise I had to fucking talk to you. Of course it was him. I turned up drunk to Rob and Jeri's house and they couldn't get through to me, but our long-suffering captain got me to stop being an idiot in the end." 

"That's what he does best," Lukas said, a little dazed.

" _Yes_ ," Basti said boldly. "That is. And. do you know what? I'm going to tell him that when we get down there." 

"Basti," Lukas said insistently. "I love you so much. And of course I'm happy that you're happier with this all now. But things won't be perfect. You'll probably feel like this again, this sad-"

"Yeah, I will," Basti cut him off. "And I have. So many times. And it's killed me. But it's like you said, Luki. Here we are now, and it's like none of it ever happened. And there'll be a point where we're together again forever and I'll never feel like that again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know toni and mats=big mavs fans but idk about jerome so i just decided he was a warriors fan... glory hunter obvs. second in western conference. 
> 
> uhhh im getting so into joni i just want to die at this point someone hit me up :)
> 
> hahahahahahaha everything has gone to shit again and my sister is predictably, the worst person in the world and idk what to dooooooooo so i decided to post this so if it isn't good forgive me i am NOT in my best frame of mind skfriuhgiegrih omg i feel so shit right now go easy on me eeee 
> 
> lol my bad didn;t mean to start venting love u all kbye<3


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 5!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus!
> 
> wie geht's? i'm out here just existing at the moment, today has had a largely fucking terrible part of it but then something happened to make me feel relieved somewhat, so i decided to write a chapter :)) i hope you all are doing ok! <3
> 
> WOW WHAT THE FUCK. WE'RE AT 50 CHAPTERS. UNTHINKABLE. THIS IS LITERALLY UNREAL.  
> this chapter's dedication is to malak aka jok32!!! im glad u enjoy the fic, sorry i don't include joshua as much as i should :PP thank u for reading!! <333

There was a piano in the common room, and at that moment, everybody was losing their minds listening to Jerome bang away at it whilst singing out-of-tune love ballads about Robert. Either with laughter or with agony. Leon was recording the whole spectacle on his phone, prepared to send it all off to Lewandowski to show him just what his boyfriend turned into when he wasn't around. 

"Do it, pussy, he won't care," Jerome said in the middle of his singing, winking at the camera. "I love you, baby!"

"Jesus  _Christ,_ I really dodged a bullet with this roommate situation. He's being even worse than usual," Toni said in mild horror, though his ribs had already split from laughing at how ridiculous Jerome was being. "Leroy! I hope you know what you've gotten yourself into." 

Leroy was just watching in amazement. "I can't believe I ever thought Jerome was cool." 

"Oh, my God," Jonas said, wiping his eyes and trying to catch his breath again- Jerome's voice had cracked on a high note and that had been too much for him. "They're the cutest people in the world. Can you imagine loving somewhat that much?" 

"That isn't  _love,_ Jonas," Toni said, shuddering. "That's... God knows what that is."

The subject matter of Jerome's love songs seemed to be getting on Marco's nerves. As far as the Dortmund captain was concerned, a man who could sing praise about Robert Lewandowski was not a man with whom he could see eye to eye. But seeing as it was Jerome, and he knew that trying to stop Jerome from loving Robert was like trying to stop Mats being incompetent, he decided to simply step in and intervene instead of hitting him over the head with a chair. 

"Alright, Boateng, out of the way," he declared, pushing Jerome out of his seat, to a chorus of simultaneous gratitude and groans. "That's quite enough of that, they've suffered enough. That's right, Lewandowski, nobody likes you. I hope you're feeling off your game.

Marco addressed these last words to Leon's phone camera.

"Now it's time for me to lift your souls out of the depths of despair they've sunken into," Marco announced. " _I_ will be your performer for tonight." 

"Jesus, I don't know what's worse. At least I'm _used_ to Boateng's nonsense," Toni said, as Jonas tried his best not to lose his head and Mats made retching noises from where he was lying with Benni on one of the sofas in the room.

"You think you can just take my spot on the stage?" Jerome demanded, from where he was lying on his ass on the floor. "My fans will never accept it. They'll fight back." 

"No we won't, you're a fucking garbage singer, Boateng. Get him off, get him off!" Thomas called out. Jerome leapt on his feet instantly, ready to fight, as Thomas fell behind Manu to try and hide. 

"Say it to my  _face!_ " he demanded, flexing his fingers as Manu leaned backwards to protect his boyfriend. "Say I'm a shit singer, I dare you!"

"You're a shit singer," Toni said.

He had to jump out of his seat as Jerome lunged for him, and the two of them began circling the sofa, everyone chanting for who they wanted to win if it all ended up in a wrestling match.

Fips wasn't quite sure if this was a situation that warranted his captainly disapproval, it was so surreal and over-the-top. Eventually he just resigned himself to dealing with this bullshit whilst anxiously shooting looks at the door for any sign of the currently missing Basti and Lukas. Mesut, Sami, Bernd and Marc-Andre were also absent- all the better for it, it was likely the hotel would be brought down by the chaos if they were here.

"Fight whoever tries to put you down, Jeri!" Joshua shouted, from where he was lying with Julian. "You don't have to take his shit! You are a strong, independent central defender with a voice that you should be proud of!" 

"Toni's just telling the truth! We should be praising his character development, he is a Real Madrid player, after all," Marco said from where he was sitting by the piano.  

There was a sudden explosive laugh, one so loud that it caused every eye in the room to swivel around. Everyone exchanged looks of amusement as they all realised that the noise of mirth had come from Jonas, who had gone very red, with his hand over his mouth as he tried to restrain his laughter.

"Jesus Christ, Jonas," Toni said with a surprised chuckle. "Are we in Westfalen? Goddamn."

"How'd you get a noise that loud out of you when you barely speak above a whisper half the time?" Mario said in amazement.

Jonas was blushing so hard Fips, who was sitting near him, could almost feel the heat simmering off of his skin. "Sorry!" 

"What are you  _apologising_ for?" Marco demanded. "This is perfect. Toni, you literally lost the one person who could've possibly been on your side.  _Everyone_ hates Real Madrid. Of course, there was the possibility he was just laughing because of me-" 

"Because you're a joke?" Mats enquired. 

"Because I'm so  _funny,_ " Marco finished, gritting his teeth. "Oh, just you wait, Hummels."

"Jonas has already shown us he hates Madrid!" Julian Brandt declared from where he was playing FIFA with Kai. "Remember the  _scorching_ roast he executed back on the group chat? Finest moment of my miserable life. He was just too nice to say it aloud." 

Toni was looking grim. "Ach, vielen danke, Jonas. _Roomie._ " 

Jonas was wearing a wince of embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Toni! I wasn't- well, I didn't  _mean_ to-" 

"Yes, you did," Marco declared. "You secretly have hatred just like the rest of us all. I see it behind your  _eyes,_ Jonas. You think you can hide from me?" 

"I-"

"Impossible," Julian Draxler said. "Jonas doesn't deal in common things like club hatred. He's way above that." 

Jonas's face was still contorted by his wince. "I- I'm not, really, I'm not above anything! I don't like- well I'm not so fond of-"

"If he says anything about the Köln-Leverkusen rivalry, I might literally cry, I can't roast _Jonas_ ," Julian Brandt said. 

Jonas looked pained. "But- but you _can_ -"

"Hey, hey, don't tease him, you dickheads. Don't you worry, Jonas," Jerome said soothingly, from where he was still biding his time, waiting to strike at Toni. "You're not a bad person for feeling this way. It's a totally normal sensation, loathing Real- HEY!"  

Toni had struck him when he least expected it. Suddenly Jerome was cackling with laughter as Toni tackled him and everyone roared with mirth. Fips was too distracted to scold them and literally let Leon jump over his knees to get a view of the fight. 

Eventually, owing to the fact that Jerome was literally inches taller than Toni and far stronger, the Real Madrid man was defeated once more and lay flat on the ground, spread-eagled, as Jerome stood up after a job well done. Everyone returned to their seats, Jerome flexing his fingers and daring anyone else to criticise him, before extending a hand to his friend to help him up as a show of good will. Toni slapped it away and got back to his own feet, slumping back down besides Jonas, looking dishevelled. 

"Are you okay?" Jonas asked, his lip wobbling as he tried to keep his face neutral. 

Toni shot him a filthy look. He was feeling a lot more _tired_ now he had just engaged in all that... noise. "Better than ever, Flachwichser. Boateng hasn't seen the last of me. And neither have you. Watch your back tonight. Hey, are you  _laughing?_ You little prick!" 

"I'm sorry!" Jonas said more anxiously now, as Marco tried to quell his rowdy crowd. "I didn't mean to annoy you..."

Toni realised Jonas seemed genuinely nervous about upsetting him and smiled a little. "Hey, it's alright, I'm only pulling your pisser. You don't need to apologise all the time, you can shithouse too, you know. If someone dishes it out, they should be able to take it, no? Well, except if they're Reus." 

Jonas stared at Toni.

"Alright, you cunts, settle down, settle down," Marco said idly. Everyone was highly buzzing today, with Thomas imitating Toni lying spread out over Manu's lap. "We've had our amusing little interlude, we found out Jonas's true colours, and Kroos got his comeuppance for being... well, Kroos."

"Ah, I love it when I'm not the one getting all the abuse," Mario Gomez whispered a little too loudly to Miro, near where Thomas was sitting.

A moment later he regretted saying these words. 

When Mario had been thoroughly wrung out to dry and Miro could only pat his friend's back, Marco continued his little speech.

"Now, let's have a tune!" Marco said. Everyone listened eagerly, none of them really knowing whether Marco had any musical talent or not. Mario was leaning against his legs and was on his phone, and he too lifted a camera up to record it all. 

Marco took a deep breath, making sure everyone was watching (it was Marco- they were.). And then he began to sing, in a surprisingly...  _sweet_ voice?

If only his subject matter was the same, Fips lamented. 

 _"There was a man called Hummels,_  
_He thought he could play ball,_  
_But every time he moved his foot,_  
_The ref reached for his book._  
_Oh Hummels, Hummels, Hummels,_  
_He thought he could play ball,_  
_But Bayern fans who watched him play,_  
_Said 'change the transfer laws'."_

Everyone screamed and even Mats had to be somewhat impressed. Benni raised his eyebrows, as if to say,  _is he wrong?_

"How are you gonna respond to  _that,_ Hummels?" Thomas yelled.

"I-" Mats rummaged through his brain to try and whip up a song on the spot, but he couldn't think of anything.

"Oh, that's really silenced me, Hummels," Marco mocked, placing a hand on his chest. " _I-I-I-_ "

"I'm  _thinking,_ du Fotze!" 

Fortunately, he was granted a suitable enough distraction in the form of Mesut and Sami arriving. Fips had looked up almost eagerly as the door opened but he frowned again when he realised it wasn't Basti and Lukas.

Everyone cheered wildly as the two of them entered the room, as if they were major substitutions in a losing game.

"The fuck is going on here?" Sami asked amusedly, going over to sit by Jerome and Leroy. "What were you all screaming about?" 

"We were singing love ballads, want to have a go?" Jerome offered. 

"Yeah, I'll sing a ballad about my unrequited love. Of fucking normal people," Sami muttered. "Why don't you try one, Mes?" 

Everyone smirked as Mesut sighed theatrically.

"Oh, ne, mein Herz ist kalt und dunkel," he said sadly. "Keine Liebe in _meinem_ Leben."

Kai had been thoroughly engrossed in FIFA but the presence of his idol in the room had woken him up a little.

"Oh, come on, Mesut, think about who you play with!" he said brightly. "You play with Olivier Giroud! That's gotta make your heart burst with light and joy!" 

Everyone burst out laughing as Mesut gave Kai a quizzical look and Sami gave Kai a... dark, dark look. 

"Jeez, kid, I know he's handsome and everything-" 

The darkness deepened, whilst Marco had fallen out of his seat. 

"-but you can just ask me to get you a signed shirt of his or something, instead of all this subliminal communication," Mesut joked. 

" _Could_ you?" Kai asked genuinely, looking thrilled, almost accidentally elbowing Julian again.

"We're facing him soon, kid, you  _could_ do it yourself. Then you'd be able to  _talk_ to him," Mesut suggested. 

Kai clapped a hand over his mouth. "I couldn't do that! I wouldn't be able to speak to him, oh my God, I get so nervous and say stupid things and he'd just think I was weird-" 

"Hey, no, you'd be fine," Mesut said. "He's a really lovely guy, anyway, it's not like he'd judge you." 

Jonas took one look at Sami's face and struggled as hard as he could not to fucking explode again. 

"Do you know who's missing, here?" Fips said loudly, because he was sensing a move away from his strict non-interference policy (manipulating Sami into murdering Mesut and Kai was what he considered to be interference). "Ter Stegen and Leno. I am getting slightly concerned that they might have simultaneously destroyed each other." 

The cold, dark emptiness on Sami's face disappeared immediately and now he looked close to cracking up with laughter, as did Mesut and Leroy.

"You're not concerned. You  _want_ that to happen," Thomas said lazily. "Where's Basti and Lukas? They're not here either."

"Ah, we should let them have their time alone," Marco said neutrally, idly stroking Mario's hair from where his boyfriend was leaning against him. "They need some space. Ter Stegen and Leno, on the other hand..."

Fips raised his eyebrows and Mats let out a sardonic little scream. "He-  _he was being thoughtful!_ "

"Yeah, more thoughtful than you are when making a clearance in the box-" 

"That's  _it-_ " 

Benni pulled Mats back down before he could pounce.

"Someone gets dragged down by a Schalker. Just like the simulations," Marco said peacefully.

"You fucking-"

Fips cut off Benni's snarl with a wave of the hand. "I'm surprised at you all. The potential for even more ear-splitting chaos and idiocy if those goonies upstairs were here, yet you're all happy with their absence." 

"We don't wanna interrupt their  _private time,_ " Sami said with a feral grin. 

Kai looked at Julian nervously, Julian smirked back. 

" _Private_ _time?_ " Manu said in amazement, from where he had his fingers tangled in Thomas's curls. "If this was anything like it normally is, one of them would have been down here a very long time ago. They can't stand being in each other's presence for more than two minutes at a time." 

"I call bullshit on that," Jerome said. "They secretly love being in each other's presence, you can just tell. For all the whining Bernd did about having to room with him, I didn't notice him actively looking for another partner." 

"Marc begged me to swap partners with him!" Leroy interjected, trying to give Mesut and Sami a furtively pointed look to get them to protect Steno as well. 

Mesut and Sami blithely ignored it. 

" _Ha!_ Marc," Mario said, slapping Marco's knee. "What an absolute fool. He was all red, could barely get a word out. It really did look like it was his dream come true, he just didn't want to admit it." 

"But Bernd really does hate Marc-Andre?" Kai said uncertainly. "He always used to rant about Marc-Andre all the time!"

"It's a protective layer," Mario Gomez said wisely. "He's built up a facade to try and hide his real feelings, because he knows that if they got out, they'd only cause complication and harm." 

Jonas looked at Mario with his brow creased.

"Protective layer," Thomas scoffed. "It'd only be protective if none of us could actually see through it. But we do. Everyone knows how he really feels-" 

"But that's different from saying it aloud," Fips said. "Think how complicated the situation between them is. Personally I feel like it would be a disaster for those two if they actually...  _acted_ upon this nonsense between them. There's too much baggage there. The fact remains that neither of them have sole claim to the no.1 spot after Manu retires. If either of them end up becoming the main starter, think how the other would feel. Their careers are more important. Football is their entire life at the moment. If they ever _got together,_ it would be so fragile with all this tension." 

" _Who's_ retiring?" Manu demanded, to break the pondering silence (Leroy's smile had faded somewhat). "The real problem here is that neither of them will get  _any_ playing time because I'll still be in perfect form at 40." 

Nobody _quite_ wanted to argue this point. It wasn't worth losing their limbs over.  But just as Marco decided he was going to try and throw caution to the wind and risk it, someone else appeared in the doorway. 

It was Bernd himself.

"WAHEY!" Sami called between cupped hands. "Our own little Leno has finally joined the party! Where's your other half?"

Bernd gave Sami a very dirty look as he entered the room and flopped down on the sofa by Kai and Julian, ruffling Kai's hair. 

"Who fucking knows where ter Stegen is?" he asked flatly. "Taking a shower, crying over his gloves because I'm here to overshadow him, doesn't matter to me." 

Mario tipped his head back against Marco's knee and tried to give his boyfriend a communicative look, but Marco just grinned evilly down at him. So Mario looked at Manu instead, who shared his suspicious gaze. 

"Where have  _you_ been, then, Leno?" Manu asked. 

"On a call with my agent," Bernd said with a dismissive shrug. Mesut wondered where Bernd had learnt to look so indifferent. "Sorry I couldn't join this little party earlier. What are you all doing in here?" 

"We were just having some musical performances," Jerome said, jerking his head towards the piano. "I sang all about my love for the man who has my heart, but these soulless cunts booed me off. I'm still reeling from the injustice." 

"Fucking Lewandowski, you deserved to get booed," Bernd said darkly. He, like many other keepers in the Bundesliga who had played against Robert, did not have fondness for the man. "More like he  _stabs_ your heart." 

"There's Marc-Andre!" Jerome said brightly.

"Where?" Bernd said, whipping his head around, and then he realised Jerome was just making fun of him for his bad roast. 

"Looks like you _want_ him right nearby _,_ " Sami said brightly. "You'd probably fly to _Barcelona_ to get close to him." 

Leroy tried very hard not to scream. 

Bernd took a very deep breath. 

"Well, you know what they say, Khedira," he said calmly. "Keep your enemies close."

"Just how close?" Mesut enquired. 

Bernd stood up as everyone laughed, both at Mesut and with him. Leroy thought he had really snapped, but instead he nudged at Julian Brandt with his foot with a restrained expression on his face.

"Give me the controller, Brandt, let me play Kai," he said simply. Kai looked eager, so Julian grudgingly gave him the controller and climbed onto the sofa behind Kai as Bernd flopped down next to him. 

"Are you really mad?" Kai asked Bernd in a low voice, as everyone dissolved into their own separate conversations, Bernd selecting his team set-up with his jaw set. 

"Why would I be mad?" Bernd asked serenely. "I'm cruising right now, Kai. On a tide of enlightenment and peace. There's not a drop of negative emotion inside of me." 

Kai looked uncertain.

And was right to be, when the game started and Bernd proceeded to put seven goals past him in five minutes.

***

Owing to the fact they had training the next day, Fips had shepherded everybody up to their rooms demanding that they all get a good night's sleep. Toni was suffocated by Jerome in a hug before he went off with Leroy and everyone taunted Bernd before they disappeared into their rooms, who gave them all dark looks while secretly smiling on the inside as he made his way back to Marc-Andre. He gave Kai a quick hug and squeezed the boy's cheeks and clapped Julian on the back before he turned to his room. 

"Give Marc-Andre our love!" Marco called, as he and Mario blew him kisses. Bernd snapped his fingers and presented his middle finger with the air of someone performing a magic trick. 

When Bernd entered his room, there was Marc-Andre, lying on his bed with his laptop open. He was wearing a frown on his face as he scrolled through some sort of document, but when he saw Bernd, his face brightened up. 

Jesus. It was still weird seeing Marc-Andre looking happy to see him. For the past decade all he had seen Marc-Andre do was scowl at him, but now the man was wearing a beam as if he was seeing his best friend of all time. 

"You feeling all right?" Bernd asked almost awkwardly, as he entered the room. "How come you didn't turn up downstairs?"

"I was going to, but the club and my agent sent me some stuff to look through," Marc-Andre explained. "A lot of weird paperwork and shit, it took up my time and I totally forgot about joining you guys."

"Oh well," Bernd muttered, as Marc-Andre closed his laptop and sat upright. "Probably for the best. Sami and Mesut were being dickheads again. They  _all_ were. They would've flayed you alive." 

"So we probably dodged a bullet," Marc-Andre laughed. He got upright onto his knees and shuffled towards Bernd as Bernd approached, giving the goalkeeper a tender kiss. "But tomorrow will be a harder job." 

"You're telling me, Jesus Christ," Bernd said in mild horror, his smile as he looked down at Marc-Andre disappearing as he remembered the fact the two of them would be in close quarters with  _Manu_ for most of the day. "Do I need to coach you on how to act, or...?"

"You know it won't work," Marc-Andre said, now looking more worried. "I've tried coaching myself and learning lines but it's  _never_ worked out. All we have to do is have faith in me and hope I don't shut down again, I guess." 

He gazed vacantly out into the distance before noticing Bernd was staring at him in abject disbelief.

"Hey, you don't have to look like it's so impossible, you know!" he said, giving Bernd a little smack. "I'm not that hopeless!"

Bernd remembered the whole  _roommates_ situation and was inclined to... disagree. But Marc-Andre had opened his arms to Bernd, and so Bernd decided the roasting could wait.

The roasting was  _not_ going to wait outside in the hallway, however, as Mats was being held bodily back by Benni and Fips was bellowing at both him and Marco.

"GET INTO YOUR ROOMS, YOU FUCKING BUFFOONS!" he yelled, as Marco made a gesture with his head that had Mats almost breaking free of Benni's grip. "YOU'RE NOT STARTING ANYTHING, HUMMELS!" 

"You see, even your own captain thinks you should stay on the bench!" Marco sang, and Benni had to pull Mats back even more.

"AWAY WITH YOU!" Fips roared. "OR I'M GETTING NEUER HERE!" 

This was a genuine threat and Mats immediately stopped struggling so much, giving Fips a horrified look. Even Marco looked a little more wary. Benni just smirked at the effect Manu's mere name could have on Mats. He was such a pussy.

"NEU-" 

"Okay, okay, I'm going!" Mats said immediately. He let Benni escort him to his room, shooting Marco a malevolent look. Marco grinned after him, but his grin faded as Fips shot him a pointed look and he too, disappeared into his own room.

When they were gone, Fips felt a little amazed. Had he just discovered a new weapon against those two? Had it really taken him this long to threaten to set Manu on them?

Just as he had this wonderful thought, the door of the room behind him opened, making Fips jump about six miles out of his miserable skin. He turned his head around and was surprised to see  _Basti_ there. 

"Basti!" Fips said in alarm at this sudden appearance. "Are you... are you alright?" 

"I thought I heard you yelling, Fips!" Basti said eagerly. Before Fips could even say anything he converged on the smaller man and flung his arms around his neck. 

Fips was knocked back a step and blinked, but he managed to get his arms around Basti in turn, patting the midfielder's back. He wasn't sure of the reason for this enthusiastic hug, but if Basti looked so happy...

"I just wanted to tell you how fucking amazing you are and how your advice is actually perfect!" Basti told him excitedly. "I love you, Fips!" 

Fips blinked even more. "I- Well, thank you, Schweini. Did something... did something happen? Did you..." 

He gestured with his head a little towards Basti's room. Just as he did so, Lukas appeared in the doorway. 

"I sure did!" Basti said brightly. "We both did! And you were the one who made me realise how stupid I was being!" 

Fips made eye contact with Lukas, who wasn't smiling. In fact, Lukas seemed to be trying to communicate something with Fips in his look.

"That's... well, that's great, Basti," Fips said, frowning quizzically at Lukas, who stared at him almost forcefully back. He sensed he was missing something.

He wasn't the only one. Mario was watching Miro, Manu and Thomas communicate from the doorway of his bedroom feeling almost as if he was intruding on something intensely private. But he couldn't exactly leave, because Miro had the key to their room. 

"I hope you have a good night, Manu," Miro murmured as he gave Manu a hug. "Again, I'm so proud of you for what you've done." 

"Vielen danke, Miro," Manu said, his eyes creasing fondly as he turned and walked into his room. Thomas watched him go, and surprisingly, was smiling at Miro just as fondly. 

"Thank you so much, Opa," he whispered, leaning forwards to give Miro a hug. Miro smiled and patted his back. "For everything you've done for us. We owe you so much." 

"You don't owe me a thing," Miro said firmly. "I'm just glad to have helped." 

Thomas beamed at him as they drew apart, and then Thomas noticed Mario. He gave the striker a dirty look before turning dramatically on his heel and stalking into his room. 

"Seriously!" Mario exclaimed, when the door shut behind Thomas. "What have I  _done_ to him that justifies this level of saltiness?"

Miro shrugged and sighed. "You know Thomas. He'll get over it... when you've retired."

***

In Jonas and Toni's room, Toni was experiencing, for the first time, what it felt like to be in a hotel room during the international break without Robert Lewandowski's voice in the background. He was also experiencing being able to walk into a room without being instantly tackled by a bear hug. 

He still had that strange feeling of loss. 

 _It's just Jonas,_ he told himself, because he felt a little squirm of discomfort that he really wasn't too familiar with.  _You've talked to him loads of times before._

"Es ist ein bisschen wahnsinnig," Jonas said, from where he was stretching and yawning by his bed, clad in a Köln jersey and grey joggers. "Ich bin so müde. And we haven't even done any playing yet." 

"The team tends to have that effect," Toni said with a grin. He sat at the edge of his bed, feeling a little worn himself. "I'm going to see if I can call Jess and Leon. He's probably in bed by now, though." 

"It is pretty late," Jonas agreed, looking out of the window and seeing the dark sky. Toni hoped against all odds Leon would somehow still be awake as he fished his phone out of his pocket.

_Private chat between Jessica Farber and Toni Kroos_

**Toni:**  Hey Jess

 **Toni:** Is Leon up? 

 **Jessica:** toni it's like 11 pm

 **Jessica:** do u think i'm some sort of irresponsible mother

 **Toni:** So he's still awake?

 **Jessica:**... he's still awake.

 **Jessica:** but im gonna put him to bed like right now so have a quickkk convo with him 

 **Toni:** Sure just want to see him before I drop off 

_Incoming call from Jessica Farber._

Toni swiped right at once. Immediately, his tiredness vanished and was replaced by warmth as he saw a little boy's beaming face on the screen. 

"Five minute call with Papa, then bed, Leon!" Toni heard Jessica saying in the background. "You need to brush your teeth and put your pyjamas on!" 

Leon waved vigorously, seemingly completely disregarding his mother's words, his eyes only for his father. "Papa!" 

"Hi, Leon!" Toni said softly. Jonas glanced up from his phone and could have possibly melted as he saw the expression on Toni's face. "How are you, Schatz? You're still awake, and it's so late! Aren't you sleepy by now?" 

"Ne!" Leon said brightly. "I'm awake. I'm watching Pingu!" 

He showed his father the TV screen on the camera. Indeed, the cartoon that Leon seemed to live for was playing at the moment. Toni knew how impossible it was to get Leon to drop off when he was watching the show sometimes- he felt for Jessica. 

"You should listen to Mama when it's time to sleep," Toni said gently. "Otherwise you'll get so sleepy you'll end up looking like Opa does." 

"No, like you!" Leon declared. Toni wasn't sure if this was an insult or not, but Leon was beaming so much he decided to take it as a compliment. "Are you playing football right now, Papa?"

Toni laughed. "Ne, _I'm_ going to sleep, now, I just wanted to talk to you before I did. Papa is very, very tired. But I'll be playing football tomorrow. Just like you! You're going to be playing with Markus tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah!" Leon said happily. "I'm going to score! Are  _you_ going to score?" 

"Natürlich. Just for you, little lion," Toni said with a soft smile. "I always score for you!"

"I'll score for you too!" Leon promised his father. Jonas, who was trying not to listen but couldn't resist himself, tried not to let his internal breakdown show. "Is Uncle Jerome, there, Papa? I want to say hi!" 

"Uncle Jerome isn't here this time, he's in another room, but you can say hi to him tomorrow," Toni said. "But there's someone else here. Want to say hi?" 

Leon suddenly looked shy, as he always did around strangers. "Ja." 

Toni turned to Jonas, who blinked back at him, beckoning him over. Jonas rose from his bed and moved over to Toni, blushing but smiling at the same time as he approached the phone camera. He wasn't wearing his glasses or his contact lenses, so his nose was crinkled as he peered at the screen.

"Hallo!" Jonas said, perching awkwardly beside Toni on the bed, waving his fingers at Leon, looking just as shy as the little boy. "Wie geht's, Leon?" 

After a little bit of encouragement from his father, Leon whispered, "Gut." 

"He's a bit shy," Toni said to Jonas, whose hand came very close to clutching his heart. "Why don't you ask him what his name is, Leon?" 

Leon looked at his father for support- Toni had to mouth the words so Leon remembered how to ask.

"Wie heißt du?" Leon mumbled. 

Jonas laughed loudly again- Toni wasn't sure how he hadn't realised the exact volume of his laugh before. It was definitely at odds with the softness of his voice. 

"Ich heiße Jonas, Leon," he said softly. "I'm your Papa's teammate." 

"Are you playing tomorrow too?" Leon asked very quietly. "With my Papa?" 

"Yeah, I am!" Jonas said cheerfully. "Your Papa is amazing, Leon. He's great to play with, but you know that already. Do you like playing football?" 

Leon nodded timidly. "I scored a goal against Mama yesterday."

"You're on the road to becoming a World Champion, Schatz," Toni laughed, as Jonas's face practically split open with his grin. "Your Mama is just as talented as Uncle Manu. She missed an open goal penalty, once."

There was the sound of a derisive scoff in the background. "Okay, Mr Kroos. We won't forget the time  _Leon_ nutmegged you and scored." 

"Sounds like the _real_ talented Kroos is on his way," Jonas laughed. 

"True," Toni said contemplatively. "You're even more talented than me, Leon. How does that feel?"

Leon grinned. "I'm not yet. But when I'm bigger." 

"Do you know what will help you be even more talented?" Jessica's voice said in the background. "If you get lots and lots of sleep. Time for bed, now, Leon. Say bye to Papa, you can talk to him more tomorrow." 

Leon looked sad. 

"I'll call you tomorrow, definitely, and you can talk to Uncle Jerome, too," Toni promised him. "You need to get lots of rest so you can have energy to run around tomorrow, Schatz. I'm going to sleep too. Say bye to Jonas!" 

"Goodnight, Leon, sweet dreams!" Jonas said, waving at the boy. 

"Danke," Leon said in a small voice. Jonas smiled at him and stood up again, leaving Toni's side so the boy could say goodnight to his father.

"Goodnight, little lion, sleep well," Toni said, blowing his son a kiss. "See you tomorrow!" 

"Gute Nacht, Papa," Leon said, waving. Soon the phone was taken from him and Jessica's face was showing on the screen. The woman grinned at Toni. 

"Night, Toni, good luck with training," she said. "Wish me luck with Leon and his friend. They'll drive me to an early death." 

"Thanks. And you'll survive, Jess. Goodnight," Toni said with a smile. Jessica winked at him and then her face disappeared from the screen. Toni stared at the spot where Leon had been before going off the call. His phone background was his son balancing precariously on a small bike. 

Jonas watched his soft expression and couldn't control the huge smile that had spread across his face. Toni noticed him looking and turned somewhat red.

"You've seen him before," he said with a shrug. "I just don't think you've talked to him?" 

"Yeah, I haven't spoken to him, but I have now, and I'm so glad," Jonas said happily. "He's so adorable! You're so adorable too! You get so soft around him!" 

Toni turned redder, and said, gruffly, "Yeah, well. I love him more than anything."

Jonas had to sit down, he was so overcome, and Toni looked even more embarrassed. 

***

_Private chat between Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng_

**Robert:** I'd say "Jeri what the fuck are you okay" about all those videos but Jesus if they aren't a mood right now

 **Robert:** Also Marco saying nobody likes me is also a mood I don't even like myself

 **Robert:** I want to sing the praises of you to the whole world I MISS YOU SO MUCH ALREADY

 **Robert:** Also you singing badly gets me shook because I can't comprehend it your voice is so good

 **Jerome:** how dare you sir

 **Jerome:** ragging on my dulcet tones when i was pouring my heart out

 **Robert:** If your love inspires that noise out of you is it really love

 **Robert:** Also

 **Robert:** Call me ugly

 **Jerome:**  you're ugly

 **Robert:** No you fucking clown

 **Robert:** CALL me, like phone me

_Incoming call from Jerome Boateng._

Robert's finger moved so blindingly quickly across his screen that Jerome's face actually startled him with how abruptly it popped onto the screen. And also because it was so achingly beautiful. 

"Hey, baby!" Jerome whispered, his face illuminated by the light of his phone- the rest of the room was in darkness. Robert assumed that Toni was asleep. "Wie geht's?"

Robert shrugged, settling backwards. Wojciech was such a deep sleeper that he was actually never bothered by his and Jerome's late night conversations. Which was good, because a lot of them tended to be really embarrassing.

"I'm alright, I guess," he said, after a few moments of thoughts. "Nothing has happened to sink me into depression yet, because we haven't started playing, so I'm in good spirits at the moment." 

"Nothing  _will_ happen," Jerome murmured. "You'll be in good spirits throughout the whole thing, you idiot."

"We'll see. Maybe I'll get an own goal to kick this break off," Robert suggested. Jerome gave him a stern look. "Tell Toni I say hi, by the way." 

"Toni isn't here," Jerome said. "I'm rooming with Leroy for now." 

Robert raised his eyebrows. "Leroy? Why is that?" 

"Ter Stegen and Leno." That was all Jerome needed to say, Robert immediately understood. "But let's not talk about the circus. How are you feeling at the moment, baby? Are you ready for your training tomorrow?"

"You ask me this question every time, and the answer is always the same," Robert laughed. "I'm never ready to face disappointment and low expectations. Who would be?"

Jerome gave him an unimpressed look. 

"Okay, fine. I won't be so self-pitying and melodramatic," Robert sighed. "I am very excited to pursue the challenge that is playing with my national team. We are all very eager to play against Italy, because we know it'll be tough and rewarding for us, and we want to continue to improve and build upon our performances." 

Jerome continued to give him an unimpressed look.

"Was willst du von mir? I was being optimistic," Robert grumbled. 

"Yeah, and I'd believe it more if you didn't look like you were going to burst out laughing saying it," Jerome sighed. "Remember what I said about mindsets, baby?" 

"Remember what I said about your mother?" Robert muttered in turn.

"Even if it's hard, you've got to just force yourself not to slip into  _self-deprecation,_ " Jerome intoned. "It can mess you up. Be the overconfident man I know you to be, Rob, all this doubt isn't you. It's worrying me." 

"Yeah, I know, I know," Robert mumbled. "But I can't help it, sometimes. I'm human, Jeri."

For some fucking ridiculous reason, his eyes had started to become watery.

"I know!" Jerome said instantly to reassure him. "I know. I'm not blaming you at all. All I'm doing is trying to help you out of it." 

"I know," Robert muttered. "But e-fucking- _nough_ about me and my stupid broken-record spiel about Poland. How are you doing, Jeri?" 

"It's  _not_ a broken-record spiel, Rob, I want to hear how you feel," Jerome said firmly. "And I'm okay. I'm glad to be out here with the boys, even if I do miss you so much already." 

Robert squinted at Jerome. His boyfriend looked as though he wanted to say something, his cheeriness having given way to... uncertainty. 

"What is it?" Robert whispered, seeing it immediately.

"It's nothing," Jerome said hesitantly. "I was just feeling... Well... God, this is so stupid." 

"Tell me," Robert said softly. 

Jerome looked down. "You know the first game after we come back from the break, right?"

Robert racked his brains, but he couldn't quite think of it. "I don't remember. Who are we facing? It had better not be Leipzig." 

"It's Schalke," Jerome mumbled, unable to hold eye contact. He was suddenly very interested in the corner of his duvet.

Robert understood at once.

"Hey, baby," he said gently. "It'll be okay."

"I know," Jerome muttered. "I know, it should be fine. I just... I hate it when we face them off. It's always been... I don't know, it always makes me panic. It makes me feel scared." 

Robert nodded. "But nothing will happen, Jeri, I promise. I'll be right there. You don't even know if he'll be fit enough to play. You'll be fine, I promise you."

"Yeah..." Jerome whispered. "I'm just being stupid, I'm sorry."

"It's not being stupid," Robert murmured. "I understand why you'd feel that way. I mean, Jesus, it's not exactly like he's nice to you, I wouldn't be too fond about facing him off in a football match either if I was in your position."

"Yeah, but getting so scared you don't want to come off the international break, that's just pathetic. _I'm_ pathetic," Jerome said with a little shrug. 

"Don't say that," Robert said firmly. "Don't ever say that about yourself. You wouldn't let me say it about myself if I was going through the same thing.It's not pathetic at all. You just need to know that nothing will happen while I'm there. I wouldn't let it happen. Don't let him make you feel like this. You're strong, Jeri." 

Jerome nodded vaguely.

"You are," Robert insisted. "You're going to come off this international break with another couple of wins and clean sheets, the top spot in your group, and you're going to do great. And when you come back, you're going to face Schalke and make sure they don't get a touch in the box. And there's nothing he can do about it." 

Jerome winced. 

"You know if he tries anything, he'll have to face me," Robert said threateningly. "I promise you, Jeri. I'd teach him a lesson." 

There was something about the look in Robert's eye that made Jerome think that Robert meant what he was saying one hundred percent. And for some reason, that filled him with dread.

But because Robert was looking at him with such love on his face as well, Jerome had to smile at him. Because if he said what he was truly thinking, than he knew that that things would get much more complicated than they were now. And that was something he simply didn't need at the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't know if i've mentioned it and this isn't really related to this chap but i'm a pretty big fan of tennis too and i was v surprised to hear about andy murray retiring, jesus what injuries can do to athletes :(
> 
> i can't tell if this chapter is long or not omg, there was a lot i wanted to include and the first segment became ridiculously long bc i was just having so much fun writing it hahaha
> 
> im a brave bitch and i didn't proofread this because i laugh in the face of my fear of people's disappointment
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed the chap!! <333


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 6!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus! 
> 
> this chapter. ended my life. what you're reading right now is a version completely different from the original, i deleted the one i was initially going to post and had to rewrite it all because i HATED IT. i don't know WHY this chapter came to my house and beat me black and blue but here i am. god, you'd better enjoy this chapter. or ELSE.
> 
> i keep saying to myself, "elise, respond to the lovely comments u egg" but i just keep forgetting! i'm so sorry! i will reply asafp i promise i love you all so MUCH.

Following the regularly scheduled sentence of Marco and Mats to extra laps, after Mats had poured a bowl of granola over Marco's head at breakfast and Marco had made several... pointed comments in return, everyone set off to jog around the pitch in _boisterous_ spirits, to say the least.  To Marco's credit, he seemed utterly unfazed by the fact he had now racked up a total of nine extra laps and was busy telling everyone who would listen that he was so fit he could sprint them all without breaking a sweat.

Indeed, he _looked_ pretty happy from where he was running alongside Mesut and Sami. His companions did not seem to share the sentiment.

"Holy shit, Reus, if you try and trip me up one more time, I'm going to shoot you into those goalposts," Sami threatened. "Keep your limbs to yourself."

"You should be grateful any of my body parts are near you," Marco said blithely, now trying to trip Mesut, who managed to niftly avoid him. "Whenever I touch anyone, a flood of enlightenment engulfs their minds."

"You make me want to engulf my mind. With a flamethrower," Sami said irritably, shoving Marco away from him. "You are another _level_ of annoying."

"Seriously!" Mesut exclaimed, as he had to avoid Marco's foot again. "The only reason I'm not fucking ripping your cock off your body right now is because I can't be bothered to get extra laps too. Especially not when I barely got any sleep last night."

"Why didn't you get any sleep? You didn't tell me that," Sami said, instantly concerned. "Are you feeling ill?"

"No, I'm fine," Mesut said indifferently. "Just-"

"Don't tell me you have another fever again," Sami fretted, not listening to what Mesut was saying. "You see? This is what happens when you wear your stupid open neck T-Shirts and no jacket in _London_ of all places-"

"I'm _fine_ , Sam, Jesus, don't nag me, you don't get fevers from the cold, anyway," Mesut said, dodging Sami's hand against his forehead. "Sometimes I toss and turn, that's all, and the air-conditioning must have been dodgy too, it was really cold."

"Really cold?" Sami looked even more worried. "That must mean you have some sort of fever, because it was actually really warm in our room last night-"

"Maybe we just have different body temperatures," Mesut said, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, I don't get ill _that_ much, you always worry yourself every time-"

"Because you're an idiot who doesn't take care of himself properly-"

Marco watched the display in total amazement, so much so that he wasn't looking where he was going and ran straight into Mats- the two of them tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Just as the centre-back went to slap him, Jogi looked up from his clipboard.

"HUMMELS! REUS! THAT'S ANOTHER ONE!" Jogi was in a bad mood today.

Mats stormed and raged at Marco for about twenty seconds before sprinting well ahead to where Benni had left him behind to complain to him too.

"You saw that, right?" Marco demanded of Sami and Mesut, who were smirking. "You saw what he did to me completely unprovoked? And what he did to me this morning? And people still act like I'm the guilty one in this whole thing?"

"You were flicking bread at him all throughout breakfast," Mesut said dismissively. "You knew it was coming. You always know it's coming. That's the only reason you fucking do it."

"And that idiot Mats falls for it every. Single. Time." Sami rolled his eyes. "And then you got cereal all over Jonas too."

Marco cringed at the memory of Jonas blinking slowly as milk dripped from the lenses of his glasses. The man had _definitely_ been pissed, Marco was sure of it- he had seen the left-back's eyes flash just like Manu's did when someone did something stupid that involved him. But fortunately, Jonas wasn't like Manu in any other way whatsoever, so...

"Water under the bridge!" Marco said loudly (and guiltily). "It always is, with dear Jonas!"

"I'm surprised he hasn't drowned you in it," Sami said dryly.

"I swear," Mesut said passionately. "What I wouldn't give to have a fraction of that man's patience. The shit he puts up with on the daily from this squad, and he's _still_ on the forgiveness train. Won't even blame you in the first place."

"Remember when Thomas thought his boots were Toni's and threw them into that lake because he was angry at him?" Sami snorted. "The look on Thomas's face when he found out they were Jonas's. Acted like he had killed his best friend. Grovelled like a little bitch."

"And Jonas still forgave him on the spot. I would've ripped him apart for touching my boots in the first place, let alone for flinging them into a lake," Marco said wonderingly. "Where in the _hell_ does that man get half of that restraint from?"

"He's just like that," Mesut said, shrugging. "It must come to him naturally."

"That shit doesn't come to anyone naturally, I refuse to believe it," Marco laughed. "He must have done zen training since he was born or something, otherwise he would have snapped a long time ago."

"Just because you're an uncivilised cunt, doesn't mean everyone else is," Sami snorted. "It must be hard for you to grasp the concept that there are people out there who are genuinely nice."

"It must be hard for you to grasp the concept that you're in love with Mesut," Marco said under his breath.

Neither Sami or Mesut heard him.

"You know who I wish had some restraint?" Mesut said, shaking his head in wonder. "Manuel fucking Neuer. That man could use it the most out of all of us."

"Entschuldigung, bitte?"

Mesut screamed in shock, falling over as he looked behind him and saw the towering Manu himself jogging alongside Thomas and Mario. Sami helped him up after spending a few moments roaring with laughter, and Manu's eyebrow just inched up his face as he regarded his former Schalke teammate.

"I'm the one who needs restraint, hm?" Manu said, as Mesut brushed himself off and tried to search for his lost fragments of dignity, bright scarlet. "I'm the most restrained person in this omnifuckery of a squad. Just look at who I have as my teammates, and you'll realise how much worse I could be if I wasn't stopping myself all the time."

Nobody doubted this but Thomas, who knew that Manu was really about as intimidating as Gonzolo Higuain heading towards goal.

"Look at who you have for your back-up goalkeepers, too," Mario giggled. "Maybe we should be giving you a bit of credit."

The running group all grinned appreciatively and craned their necks to try and catch a view of said back-up goalkeepers. Bernd was struggling to catch up with Kai, who was much faster than everyone but Leroy, really, but was too nice to run ahead and leave him behind. Marc-Andre was jogging alongside Jonas, Toni and Jerome, Leroy having left him in the dust because he loved coming first in training laps.

Mesut and Sami shared a look.

"Don't even get me fucking started," Manu sighed. "I seem to be flypaper for fucking pillocks. Ter Stegen and Leno take years off of my life. First it was ter Stegen trying to strangle Leno with a stretch band for laughing at him because he missed a penalty save, next it was him stomping around yelling at everyone to leave him alone because Bernd hadn't been called up for the Euros."

"Holy shit, I remember that." Thomas was cackling. "Throughout all the qualifiers they were trying to rip each other apart, but when the actual tournament rolled around and Bernd wasn't there? Marc-Andre looked like he would give up his hands just to have him in the squad."

Marco scowled a little. He hadn't been in that tournament squad. He had been informed of all of the jokes through texts.

"It's almost as though they can't stand being apart from each other, really," Sami said with a pointed smirk at Mesut. "Almost as if all that bickering is a cover-up about how they really feel."

"How'd you pluck the ends out of thin air like that, Sami?" Mario snorted.

"Nothing escapes Sami's notice, Mario," Thomas said slyly. "He's on top of everything. Doesn't miss the tiniest detail."

"You'd be hard-pressed to find a man more in-tune with his own emotions and those around him," Manu said wisely. Mesut didn't quite understand what they were joking about, but if they were mocking Sami, he had to laugh.

"Yeah, you're right. I notice it all. Like the fact you're ugly," Sami muttered.

"Speak of the devil! Marc-Andre, we were just talking about you!"

Thomas's voice was so loud that Marc-Andre actually glanced at them in confusion. Mario fell about laughing and Sami scowled.

"Sorry, what'd you say?" Marc-Andre called over.

"You're in love with Bernd!" Marco mouthed at him. It was very hard for Mesut and Sami not to lose their shit.

"I didn't hear that, say it again, please?" Marc-Andre looked genuinely puzzled.

The joggers had to take a break as Mario fell to the ground in his mirth. Jogi blew his whistle at them aggressively.

"PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER AND KEEP RUNNING, GÖTZE, OR YOU'LL BE JOINING YOUR BOYFRIEND FOR EXTRA LAPS!"

Marco helped Mario back to his feet and they continued running again, Mario wiping his eyes and Sami and Mesut wondering how on Earth Marc-Andre was capable of being the dumbest member of a squad that involved the likes of Mats Hummels and Leroy Sane.

"Those- two!" Mario gasped, his face still bright red. "Every time I interact them I automatically lose a year of my life! And given that I've known them for a decade and have definitely talked to them more than I should have, I don't have much time left!"

"You would have died laughing your ass off, there are worse ways to go," Marco said reasonably.

"I'm not laughing, I'm crying! I can't take this anymore!" Mario said, gesturing at his face, which was still contorted with laughter.

"Don't worry, Mario," Manu said soothingly. "It's been different so far. They've been suspicious as all hell, but ter Stegen is so fucking gullible he'd probably end up explaining everything to me if I put on a mask and pretended to be Leroy. Soon we'll be able to get to the bottom of all this, don't you fret."

"What'd you mean?" Mesut asked quickly, glancing at Sami.

"Well," Mario said breathlessly. "Me and Manu have been the sole people who seem to have noticed that ter Stegen and Leno are acting weirdly, so we've taken it upon ourselves to deal with it and pressurise them into admitting what's wrong."

Marco rolled his eyes. "They're so hell-bent on suspecting something's different about them, but they've seemed exactly the same to me."

"That's because you're so self-absorbed you don't notice anything other than yourself," Mario informed him. "I'm telling you all, something is going on with them that isn't the usual bullshit. You'll see. We'll find out more soon enough."

Mesut looked almost frantically at Sami, now, but Sami was just grinning serenely.

"Well, if you two are on the case," he sighed. "Soon their number will be up. They won't be able to hide whatever they're up to for long."

"That's right," Manu said, cracking his knuckles, as Mesut widened his eyes at Sami. "Nobody escapes me. Especially not Marc-Andre ter Stegen."

Mesut's wordless panic was going totally ignored by Sami. Mesut went to go and punch him, not understanding why he was being so unresponsive, but as he did so, he noticed that Marco was watching him. And had seen every bit of his silent freak-out.

But when Mesut made eye-contact with him, he just looked away again.

He didn't even question it.

***

Following the jog, the goalkeepers all set off to do their own individual training, thankfully away from everyone else. It made things a little easier, not being in the presence of the idiots, but this had still been the moment Marc-Andre had been dreading since he had woken up that morning.

Manu could be worse than the whole team combined if he wanted to. Marc-Andre hoped to God the Germany no.1 was in a good mood today, so he would  _spare_ them.

Bernd barely even looked at him as they started doing warm-ups whilst the goalkeeper coach spoke to Manu about something to do with his kit supplier. Occasionally, though, when their eyes brushed over each other, and they were sure Manu wasn't watching, they both smiled a little before looking away again.

 _It's bizarre_ , Marc-Andre thought in awe, as he stretched his leg back as far as it could go. _You're looking at him in a training session for Germany and... feeling fond. Imagine how your past self would feel about that._

His lips quirked up at the thought just as Manu turned away from the goalkeeper coach and approached him.  Marc-Andre gave him a tentative grin and received a sly, almost knowing wink in return. 

_Shit. What the fuck is that look for?_

Marc-Andre silently panicked as the goalkeeper coach started off their drills, beginning with simple shot-stopping, but Manu stepped in between the posts first, so Bernd and Marc-Andre were left to do some stretches by themselves in peace. Marc-Andre wondered if Manu really knew anything, or if he was just being his usual self and teasing Marc-Andre... Or was he deliberately being vague to get Marc-Andre to crack and reveal something... God, it had been about three minutes and he was already stressed...

He glanced at Bernd to try and communicate with him about this, but Bernd was too absorbed in his warm-ups, so Marc-Andre decided to stay silent.

The only thing that could be heard was Manu's grunts as he stopped the shots headed his way.

And after a few minutes, the silence was really starting to get on Marc-Andre's nerves.

He knew that him speaking was liable to get him into trouble, because he was incapable of speaking sense and misunderstandings followed him wherever he went. But he got _antsy_ when things were too quiet. Besides, he wanted to prove to Bernd that he could contribute to this whole act they had going on, too. What better way to do it than to try and roast him? Manu wouldn't bat an eyelid, it was so normal for him to do so.

He glanced at Bernd, who was staring into space boredly, his leg stretched up behind his back, as Manu caught or knocked away the balls heading into goal in front of him.

He thought carefully about what to say.

"Why... why are you standing so close to me, du Blockflötengesicht?" he demanded finally, almost losing his balance on his own stretch as he did so.

Unfortunately, his voice had come out a little too quietly and Bernd gave him a puzzled look.

"What?" he asked, too confused to even make his voice sound hostile. "What'd you say?"

Marc-Andre wanted to eviscerate himself.  _You shouldn't be allowed vocal cords._

"Uh... nothing, never mind," he muttered hastily. And then he tried to amend himself. "I mean... it's nothing to you, Einzeller."

More silence. Then:

 _Is that really the best you can do? Are you fucking kidding me?_ Bernd's look asked him.

 _Mein Gott, I'm trying, okay?_ Marc-Andre's pained, desperate look responded.

 _Well, don't,_ Bernd's forceful quirk of the eyebrows told him. _You'll give us away even more than you already have._

Marc-Andre thought that this was probably right. And so he decided to do what would probably be the best for everyone, what he should have done in the first place.

He stayed silent.

Eventually, Manu finished his drill and the goalkeeper coach beckoned for Bernd to take his place between the posts. Bernd left Marc-Andre's side and Manu went to stand beside Marc-Andre, picking up a stretch band. The Barcelona goalkeeper decided that his new tactic would be to avoid eye contact completely and pretend that Manu didn't exist as he worked on his own limbs.

This seemed to work for a good while. Although Manu kept nudging Marc-Andre from time to time at first, he eventually decided to focus on his own work, remembering that he was a professional football player and not solely a degenerate like the rest of the squad. Marc-Andre was beginning to feel that perhaps this was going to be easier than they had initially thought. If Manu was too absorbed to keep an eye on them-

"Leno, focus!" the goalkeeper coach called out. Marc-Andre glanced up from the ground and saw that Bernd was picking himself up from the ground, looking disgruntled. The ball was in the bottom corner of the net. "That should have been saved, no question!"

Bernd muttered something and tossed the ball back to the coach. Marc-Andre felt Manu watching him, and realised he needed to do something quickly- so he let out a derisive scoff and looked away again.

"Natürlich, das hat er vermisst," he muttered. Manu still wasn't looking away.

The drill resumed. Marc-Andre tried his best not to look at Bernd. But apparently Bernd wasn't doing the same.

"Leno!" the goalkeeper coach said warningly, as Bernd missed another save. "Why are you letting your gaze travel to ter Stegen? Eyes on the ball!"

Marc-Andre turned scarlet. He allowed himself a quick peek at Bernd's face and saw the man was also red.

"I wasn't looking at fucking ter Stegen," he muttered. "I just went the wrong way."

"Well, you shouldn't be!" Manu said, looking a little annoyed. "Mind off your dick! Fokus!"

Marc-Andre was struck by a coughing fit and Manu gave him an... incredibly judgemental look. It was so judgemental that Marc-Andre felt that he wouldn't be able to live the rest of his life without feeling self-conscious about everything he ever did. It was classic Manu.

Fortunately, Bernd managed to save the last few shots without further incident, because as much as Manu enjoyed watching the two of them fuck up with _each other_ , he had his limits when it came to football. When Bernd was finished, he picked himself up from the turf and stalked over to where Manu and Marc-Andre were, making sure to pointedly _not_ look at Marc-Andre. Marc-Andre in turn was glad of a chance to escape from Manu's presence and went up to the goal as quickly as he could. Nothing quite like having some shots to save to ground him when he was feeling so nervous.

He let his eyes flicker to Bernd briefly as a shot came sailing towards him, but then they couldn't move away. The man was staring back at him.

 _Don't do that_ , Marc-Andre wanted to implore, but it was too late. His reaction was delayed- his fingers only just managed to skim the ball and push it off of the line.

"Zu nah," the coach said warningly. Marc-Andre made a face and stood up again, brushing off his knees and giving his face a little slap.

He managed to save the next shot with little concern, the shot testing his weaker side in the process.  _That's more like it..._

Yet, against all the odds, despite how much he told himself not to let his attention wander, Marc-Andre had ended up getting distracted again anyway. A shot that should have been a relatively easy save got through his fingers, because his fucking eyes had inexplicably travelled to Bernd just as the ball left the coach's foot.

And Manu, who was watching from the side with his leg splayed in front of him, was not impressed.

"Wo waren deine Augen?" he asked threateningly.

"Es tut mir leid!" Marc-Andre said hastily, scooping the ball up and trying to avoid Manu's glare. Shit, now he had definitely put his foot in it. The goalkeeper coach also looked unimpressed.

Unfortunately, things didn't go upwards from their. The session was quickly turning into a disaster. This time Marc-Andre managed to save the shot, knocking it out, causing the coach to try and test him by taking another shot from the rebound. Yet Marc-Andre's silky reflexes were caught off-guard. He completely missed the ball and it sank forlornly into the back of the net.

"Ter Stegen!" Manu snapped, his eyes searing into Marc-Andre's skin. "Stop fucking staring at Bernd and focus on your drill!"

"I'm not staring at Bernd!" Marc-Andre said desperately. "I just- I-"

He couldn't think of what to say. He stood up again, waved his arms around awkwardly and got into position again. Bernd was trying his level best to pretend he hadn't noticed anything, but his skin had steadily been turning more scarlet. 

_Come on, save it, save it-_

"TER STEGEN!"

Marc-Andre had completely disregarded a shot, and it had sailed over his head. He was sure he could see small figures in the distance pointing towards him...

"Sorry, sorry!" Marc-Andre said, horrified, looking away from them at once. "I'm ready this time, I promise!"

He showed this by catching the next ball sent his way.

God, this drill was fucking lasting forever, but he supposed he wasn't making things easier for himself by constantly getting distracted. He saved the next shot, but just as he bent his knees in preparation for the next one, he noticed, for whatever fucking reason his brain had decided to just disengage today, for whatever reason his brain wanted him dead, that Bernd's shirt...

Bernd's shirt had ridden up.

And, as was traditional, this was the straw that broke Manu's back.

***

For the first time in Jogi's miserable life, the training session actually seemed to be going... somewhat peacefully.

Although he had been anticipating a brawl following his condemnation of Mats and Marco to extra laps (Marco gaining an extra two just after he finished his for kicking Mats), the two had actually exceeded all expectations and were simply ranting about each other to their significant other instead of actively seeking each other out. Thomas had been distracted from causing trouble by trying to outdo Mario in the speed circuits, which Jogi supposed was making him into a better player, even if the motivations were corrupt. Jerome was being mostly silent from where he was doing step-ups by Toni, Basti and Fips, his face set in a slight frown. It was more than he could have hoped for.

It wasn't going to last. As he watched Kai dribble, feeling admittedly impressed by the boy's evident talent, he felt incoming turmoil in his  _bones._ Indeed, just as he was about to call out praise to the precocious teen, a voice cut through the air that effectively silenced  _everyone._

" _WOLLEN SIE MICH VERARSCHEN?_ " 

Manu's voice had a...  _strange_ effect. Sometimes it could be soft and understanding, making you feel in turn like you were talking to somebody kind and reassuring, someone who was completely level-headed. And then sometimes it could be heard over Borussia Dortmund fans crying after a loss. And could carry the same sentiment behind it. His dulcet tones had somehow managed to carry all the way from the goalkeepers' training area to the pitch where the outfield players were all assembled- and the moment everyone heard his words, every single one of them arched up at once.

They all exchanged identical, evil grins.

" _IF YOU BOTH KEEP GETTING DISTRACTED, I'LL PERSONALLY FUCKING EVISCERATE YOU, ALRIGHT?_ "

Jonas winced and Mesut and Sami both clutched onto each other. Marco yelled, " _Steno, it's Steno!_ " 

"We been knew!" Thomas yelled. "Go, Manu, baby!"

"Fuck, I wish I was with him!" Mario gasped. 

Jogi blinked.  _What on Earth was Steno?_

He didn't bother telling them all to get back to training, he knew none of them would listen until Manu was finished, and besides, he was quite curious about the topic of this rant himself. He appreciated Manu even more at times like these- anyone who could talk sense into these fools was an ally to him.

" _Half an hour ago,_ _I thought, maybe you two will have suddenly resolved your differences coming into this break, and will have actually become mature Germany internationals, instead of being fucking bumbling buffoons. I thought that, even if outside of football you were idiots, maybe during training you would decide to act competent because you want to win. THIS IS HALF AN HOUR HENCE! AND YOU TWO ARE STILL ON- THE SAME- FUCKING- BULLSHIT!"_

Mario screamed and fell down, whilst Sami could feel his skin clearing. Kai's eyes were blown wide and Julian didn't have the heart to tell him that Bernd had faced worse before... and would likely continue to face worse if he kept acting up.

" _And, you know what? What's really fucking sad here is that I don't even have the energy to pretend I wasn't expecting the same old shit to crop up again. Which is for the best, because I'm going to need all of my fucking energy to fucking rip your bodies to bits with my bare hands and sell off your fucking flayed skin, TO SOMEONE WHO CAN MAKE SOMETHING USEFUL OUT OF IT! WHICH IS THE DREAM, BECAUSE I'D FUCKING KILL TO FINALLY GET TWO BACKUP GOALKEEPERS WHO CAN TAKE THEIR EYES OFF OF EACH OTHER FOR ONE SECOND AND ACTUALLY PUT SOME FUCKING WORK IN THEIR FOOTBALL TO PROVE THAT THEY DESERVE THE NO.2 SPOT! YOU ARE BOTH SO USELESS! YOU'RE AS USELESS AS A SET OF MARZIPAN DILDOS!"_

Leroy felt bad... He really did... Marc-Andre was his brother... His friend... 

But he _had_ to laugh.

Jogi, meanwhile, raised his eyebrows. Was Manuel wrong? 

Manu seemed to have noticed everyone was watching and laughing.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ALL LAUGHING AT?" he bellowed at them. "DON'T GET TOO COCKY! IF ANY ONE OF _YOU_ MAKES A SINGLE ERROR THAT MAKES ME CONCEDE, THERE'LL BE HELL TO PAY!"

Mats turned his head away at once and instantly focused on his drill again.

 _I love you, Manuel,_ Jogi thought.  _What would I do without you?_

Fips was in a similar sort of mindset, mostly because Manu's yelling had made Marco jump and almost fall over a cone- and that was a satisfying sight to the ever-suffering captain. Smiling to himself, feeling that for once the world might actually be on his side, he returned his attention to his step-ups.

"Christ alive," Toni muttered. "He's been practicising his yelling, hasn't he? I'm not complaining, though. Ter Stegen getting eviscerated is always a fond experience for me-"

He cut himself off mid-sentence, casting a wary look at Jerome, because usually comments such as this were a precursor to a Madrid joke. But Jerome didn't even look like he was listening. He was standing still, one foot on his step-up block and the other on the ground, his eyes focused on a spot in the distance.

Jerome... being quiet and introspective?

Something was wrong.

"Boa?" Toni asked warily, giving his friend a gentle poke in the shoulder. "Are you here? Or are you thinking about fucking Lewandowski again?" 

Basti glanced at Jerome and glanced to his right, expecting Lukas to be there- but Lukas was currently seeing the physio. So he glanced at Fips instead. Fips returned the look. 

"Helloooo? Jerome? Mr Boateng?" Toni waved his hand in front of Jerome's face. Jerome blinked. "There you are, Jeri. What's the matter?"

Jerome looked as though he had been woken up from a deep sleep. "Huh?" 

Toni rolled his eyes. "If you tell me you're thinking about Lewandowski, I'll kick you into goal. But you don't seem like you're thinking about him, anyway, you're not smiling like a soppy cunt. You look sad. Are you okay?"

It was astounding how members of the team tried so hard to cover up the fact they cared, Fips thought to himself. Toni acted like he was asking Jerome about the weather, but there was real concern in his eyes.

"I'll be real with you, Toni, I didn't hear a word you just said," Jerome said, looking a little dazed and rubbing his face. "I was totally on another plane of existence there, damn. What's up?"

"He asked you if you're okay," Basti said. "You look kind of... out of it. More than usual." 

"The fuck does that mean, more than usual?" Jerome said grouchily. He didn't address the question. 

"It means you're ugly, but today you look uglier," Toni explained, with the air of trying to clear things up for someone very dense. "Ugly with sadness. Where did that sadness come from?" 

Jerome was cornered, and he knew it at once. Fips' captain gaze, Basti's considerate nature and Toni's obstinancy had all ganged up on him and he knew they wouldn't leave him alone. 

Fips, for his part, knew that Jerome was likely to talk about it, because he and Robert quite literally talked about  _everything_ and Jerome was very used to soul-bearing. Fips had seen one of their text conversations once and it had literally gone like this:

_**Robert:** I had spaghetti and it was very nice i enjoyed it_

_**Jerome:** cool i had caesar salad but marco made a comment about it so i can never eat it again_

_**Robert:** But you love caesar salad :( _

_**Jerome:** not anymore_

**_Jerome:_ ** _also babe what the fuck i had about 3 panic attacks in a row today_

 **_Robert:_ ** _:(_

 **_Robert:_ ** _Tell me about it what happened_

 **_Jerome:_ ** _ok so basically_

Before Jerome had explained in detail how he felt and Robert had responded to every word. So he wasn't too concerned about Jerome hiding things from them and suffering in silence. Sure enough, Jerome gave them all one fleeting look before sighing. 

"Just thinking about the upcoming fixture," he mumbled. "For Bayern. Not us." 

They all understood immediately. It seemed that the temperature had instantly dropped a couple of degrees.

"What are you worried about?" Toni asked quietly. "You don't think it's going to be as intense as it was in 2010, do you?" 

Jerome snorted. "Heh, no. It's a Bundesliga game versus Schalke _,_ not a World Cup game after he's knocked one of my major teammates and captain out of the tournament."

Basti and Fips exchanged a look. Michael...

"I'm not even really  _that_ worried about the game _._ It's bound to be awkward and tense, it always is. But yesterday, well... I talked to Rob about it." 

"Isn't that a good thing?" Basti asked. Toni and Fips knew better. 

"It's not a  _bad_ thing," Jerome said fairly. "Talking to Rob about things usually makes me feel better about them instantly. But this time it just made me feel more  _nervous._ "

"What did he say?" Fips said quietly.

Jerome sighed again. "He got kind of mad. He said... well, he said that if anything happened, like another fight, or something like that, then  _he'd_ deal with it."

Fips recalled the last match against Schalke, which had ended with Jerome literally  _dragging_ Robert backwards to prevent him from getting suspended for violence. It had been a disaster on many different levels- Jerome and Robert had refused to ever address it again, and none of the team had ever brought it up around them again.  Fips could understand why Jerome was nervous by what Robert had said.

"I just... it's stupid," Jerome said, shaking his head more vigorously. "So stupid. I know that Robert cares about me, and that's why he gets so angry by all of this. But I can't help but think that whenever he gets so angry, and whenever there's trouble because of it... Well, it makes me think that things just aren't going to get better. That me and Kev-  _Prince-_ aren't going to ever be able to repair things between us again, if they keep getting more broken every time we interact."

There were a few moments of contemplative silence, and then Basti spoke up. 

"You're brothers," he said quietly. "I know things are shit between you two now, but think about all the times you've shared. They can't be gone just like that. You can't cut things off that easily. I would never be able to do it to Tobias. Toni wouldn't be able to do it to Felix. It's not that easy to let go."

Jerome bit his lip and said nothing further, turning to focus on his work. Toni just sort of awkwardly patted him on the shoulder and turned his attention to his too.

Meanwhile, Fips wondered if Basti had said the right thing. Sometimes, you  _had_ to let go. If things really weren't improving, sometimes it was for the best for both parties to accept that enough was enough.

It wasn't healthy to cling desperately onto a fleeting dream of being happily reunited, especially when you were so far apart.

***

Miro was the oldest member of the German National Team.

He wasn't sure why this fact seemed to be pushing at his mind so vigorously at the moment. It might have been because he was watching nineteen year old Kai Havertz speed towards goal at that very moment, in pure awe.

The boy moved as though the ground wasn't beneath his feet. The way his eyes never seemed to leave the ball, and yet he somehow was able to navigate the space around him nonetheless, was mind-blowing to Miro. Being a target-man meant being in the right spot at the right time, but Kai seemed to be effortlessly creating that space, ducking and weaving and passing at all the right moments as if it was instinctive to him. The game seemed to run through his blood, even at his young age.

And for some reason, it made Miro sad.

It was utterly ridiculous. Here he was, with his team, watching a talented youth do well, and he was feeling... an ache. Of nostalgia, mostly. He had never been as good as Kai, there was no doubt about it, but back in his time he had shared the same energy nonetheless- that feeling of everlasting fight. He had been a warrior on the pitch in those days, one that was unstoppable, one who could do a front-flip after a goal without landing on his ass. And now here he was all these years later, feeling very much as though time was slipping away from him, and that soon he wouldn't be able to keep his grip on it anymore.

 _Thirty six years old._ Those words in succession sounded cumbersome, almost deformed, when he thought of them. In every game of the season so far in Italy, he had felt tired by the end of it- not just physically so, but mentally, too. He had never had that feeling in the old days, whether it be in front of the roaring Bundesliga crowds or in the World Cup stadiums. Before he had felt so sharp, so alive, even if his knees twinged or his shoulders were stiff. Indeed, even during the 2014 World Cup, when he was resigned to substitutions, to being a veteran and not a mainstay anymore, he had felt a rush of life inside of him that he just didn't seem to feel anymore, whenever he was on the ball.

 _Be happy for the new generation,_ his brain scolded him. _These are the people who will carry your team forwards, and that's all that matters to you. Be happy they're so alive._

He _was_ happy, he really was. In fact, he was often struck by a powerful pride whenever he watched how well the team played, thinking that they would go onto win many, many things. He just didn't like to think of what the new generation arriving meant for him.

He also didn't like to think about retirement. He had considered it, of course, after lifting the World Cup in his once calloused carpenter's hands and thinking that he would never feel anything like it again. But he had missed that opportunity for a perfect bow out at the time, out of desperation to cling to the game that was his entire life.

Nobody _understood._ Whenever he brought up his concerns, they were always dismissed- people loved telling him that his stats and records should be enough to satisfy him even if his form was declining. But they didn't understand that that wasn't what mattered for him. It was that feeling of being in the moment that kept him going. The way the game could strip away the outside world and leave nothing but Klose, Germany's goal-poacher behind, was thrilling to him. When all of that was gone, what was he, really?

Miro Klose, aged thirty six, father to twin boys Luan and Noah Klose. A very tired man. Who liked fishing.

He wasn't sure he could live with only being that once his time in football was over.

But seeing Kai out there, dribbling and constantly moving, his nervous energy dissipating and giving way to a real, ironclad determination, made him even more conscious of the fact that those days on the big stage really were leaving him behind. He was getting too old to throw himself into the game and thrive off the passion born from victory. He could barely run four laps without getting a stitch in his side anymore. The bench was becoming a new home to him.

Kai was showing him what he had lost over the years, and what he probably wouldn't be able to regain.

"Good work, Havertz!" Jogi called approvingly. His face was neutral as it always was, but Miro knew he was delighted at the talent Kai was showing. The boy really did have a mature understanding of the game, despite how young he was.

Everyone else just looked confused, not quite sure how this goofy, nervous kid could somehow be so talented.

"Jesus Christ, kid!" Bernd said, looking disgruntled as he picked himself up off of the ground, Kai's shot having gone past his fingers. "You're in a training session, not a fucking UCL final."

Kai beamed, though he also looked shy at the praise being tossed on him. "Wow, thanks, Bernd!"

"Wasn't a fucking compliment, you goober." Bernd ruffled Kai's hair. "You'd better perform like that against other keepers, too. Not just me."

"He won't. It came so easily to him _because_ he was against you," Julian Brandt said.

_No. It came so easily to him because this is his golden beginning. And it'll only goes upwards from here, Kai, until you reach..._

_No, Miro. Don't think like that. Don't be bitter._

Miro smiled at Kai as the boy came off to the side to be replaced by Marco, who assured everybody that he would outdo the youth talent with his eyes closed.

"Gut gemacht, Junge," he called out. "You're already showing us your spark."

"Wow!" Kai stopped in his tracks so overdramatically that Miro thought he was going to fall down. Indeed, he nearly did, but Julian was there to catch him. As he always seemed to be. "Miroslav Klose, saying that to me! What a world! Thank you, Miroslav Klose! That's so nice of you to say! But I still have a long way to go before I can really prove myself!"

"You can just call me Miro, you don't have to say my whole name," Miro said in amusement. "And of course, there's a lot of things every player has to do to prove themselves. But you should also be proud of what you're doing now. You've achieved a great deal in a short period of time, Kai."

Kai flapped his hands in front of his face. "I haven't done that much really-"

Julian rolled his eyes and clapped a hand over Kai's mouth. "Let the legend compliment you, Kai. He's right. You're going to be golden, okay?"

Kai blushed from head to toe but couldn't say anything- Leon had arrived to inform Kai that he was meant to be Germany's future, and so Kai needed to tone it down a little when showing him up. Miro smiled as the kids all started fighting amongst themselves, Julian making a pointed comment about Leon and the future and Leon trying to slap him for it, whilst Kai sort of got trapped in the middle of it all.

There they were right there- the new generation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i TOTALLY fucking flanderised manu. being angry is just part of his character now ok. it's so much fun to write.
> 
> wtf jonas is good at basketball?! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FD2BCjk9ChI  
> guess whos writing about that soon
> 
> structure? what is structure. this chapter has none. fucking come to germany and beat me up please. NEXT. WILL. BE. BETTER.
> 
> thanks for reading!!! <333


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 7!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus leute, wie geht's? it has been a long time since the last update, i apologise for that. yall know why at this point because i never shut up complaining but aaaa i should be back more regularly now. yesterday was a... bad day and training was weird but not that bad idk
> 
> anyway, hope you enjoy this chap!

After the training session, which had nearly ended in bloody murder because Leon had shot a free-kick straight at Jogi's head by mistake, everyone had decided to split off and do their own thing- to avoid the risk of a mass brawl taking place. Jerome, Toni, Jonas, Mario and Miro were all lingering around the basketball hoop outside- Jerome currently caught up with texting Robert while Toni was also absorbed in something on his phone, as Jonas and Mario shot some hoops. The relaxed atmosphere was what all of them needed, really- training could be  _stressful_ sometimes, and a bit of downtime was just what the doctor ordered.

Jerome was sitting back against the wall, his earlier somewhat troubled mood having given way to calm as he was grounded by the familiarity of talking to his boyfriend, about their deepest and most profound emotions.

_Private chat between Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng_

**Robert:** Arek tripped over a cone lol

 **Robert:** Landed right on his face

 **Robert:** You could hear the smack. Beautiful stuff

 **Robert:** The fact that actually made my life a whole lot better says a lot about me doesn't it

 **Jerome:** i actually get that tho.

 **Jerome:** mats' voice cracked when he was trying to insult marco, and he was HUMILIATED

 **Jerome:**  andthat was the funniest shit ive ever experienced so

 **Jerome:** agree with that schadenfreude !

 **Robert:** You see

 **Robert:** You Germans invented 50% of my personality with that word

 **Jerome:** what personality?

 **Robert:** So you think you're funny, Mr Boateng?

 **Robert:** You think I have to put up with your bullshit after the day I've had

 **Jerome:** yikes what's the drama baby

 **Jerome:** how was training

 **Robert:** Lol 

**Robert:**

**Robert:** Auf wiedersehen

 **Jerome:** get back here pussy

 **Jerome:** what happened in training

 **Robert:** Nothing happened it was just fucking garbage lol

 **Robert:** We're so shit lmao

 **Robert:** CBs ball-watching, CAM physically incapable of dropping back to defend, and this is just training matches!!!!!!

 **Robert:** And the only way I'm gonna get service in that fucking box is if I call T-Mobile

 **Jerome:** iaghiuergheirugherigu how can you violate your teammates like that

 **Robert:** Bro it's true 

 **Robert:** At this rate the only net we're gonna put that ball into is our own

 **Robert:** Someones gonna try and clear it and then TOOOOOOORRRRRR  ITALIEN

 **Jerome:** boy if you don't-

 **Jerome:** i mean i laughed but not because it's true omg shut up

 **Robert:** We're gonna get immobilised by the mighty Simone Zaza

**Robert:**

****

**Robert:** This will happen but it'll go in because it's us

 **Jerome:** STOP MAKING ZAZA JOKES TO GET ME TO AGREE WITH YOU IT WON'T WORK

 **Jerome:** THAT WILL NOT HAPPEN

 **Robert:** Yes it will. It's set in stone. Can't stop fate

 **Robert:** Conte will come on the pitch to have a go against us

 **Robert:** Nifty little back pass then a tap-in from the mighty Mario Balotelli

 **Robert:** Let's leave the scoreline up to the imagination :)

 **Jerome:** tbfh conte was a good midfielder...

 **Jerome:**  and!

 **Jerome:** i have literally tried to pump you with love and support at every opportunity

 **Jerome:** THIS is how you're going to repay me, huh

 **Robert:** I can't repay THAT Jeri.

 **Robert:** Pump me with something else and we can arrange something ;)

 **Jerome:** ROBERT LEWANDOWSKI STOP IT WHAT

 **Jerome:** OH MY GOD WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN

 **Robert:** I can literally imagine your exact facial expression now fuck I miss you and I love you

 **Jerome:** I DON'T MISS YOU AND I DON'T LOVE YOU

 **Robert:** But I need you to love me :(

 **Robert:** The state of fucking affairs of my team :(

 **Robert:** All I'm saying is maybe Mexico has the right idea... for boosting morale...

 **Jerome:** HNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG STOOOOPP I CAN'T ALLOW YOU TO DO THIS

 **Robert:** Stop me, pussy. 

 **Robert:** Anyway baby as much as I want to keep making you cringe I gtg I gtg :((

 **Robert:** Lukasz wants me to do something with him??? And he's not saying what???

 **Robert:** But he's being annoying soooo I have to listen

 **Jerome:** lol bye good riddance

 **Jerome:** talk to u in a bit tho i love you <3

 **Robert:** I love you too <3333333

A moment later, another message arrived- it was a photo of Lukasz Fabianski caught mid-way through speaking and blinking, a truly terrible combination, whilst reaching a hand out to Robert's phone. Jerome responded by turning his camera towards Toni and zooming right in on the midfielder's face before sending it off.

 **Robert:** Frightening

Jerome laughed and turned his phone off, feeling even more cheered up. Toni glanced up from his phone and at Jerome. Jerome spoke up to explain.

"I was talking to-" 

"Lewandowski," Toni finished for him. "Has he finally left you to survive on your own for a bit?" 

"Yeah. Fabianski wanted him to do something, so Rob had to go and now we're  _torn_  apart." Jerome stood up, stowing his phone in his pocket glumly and stretching, before having to catch the ball that  Mario had bounced off the backboard. "Who are you talking to?" 

"Jess," Toni said mildly. "I just want to see if Leon's around, so I can give him a call." 

"Is he there?" Jerome asked, ignoring Mario's gestures for him to pass the ball back.

Toni shrugged. "I think Jess must be busy or something, she isn't replying." 

"Too bad, man," Jerome said, looking genuinely glum. "If you call him later, tell me, I want to see little Leon again. It's been too long." 

"Yeah, he wants to see you too-"

"Boateng!" Mario called impatiently, cutting Toni off. "Give us the damn ball!" 

Jerome rolled his eyes and tossed Mario the ball. Mario caught it by the tips of his fingers and then took a shot which bounced tamely off of the hoop. Jonas in turn caught the rebound and took a shot from distance that sank right in. He didn't even blink.

Mario whistled at how clean the free-throw had been compared to his fumbling effort. "Can you stop showing me  _up,_ Jonas?" 

"Hah, sorry," Jonas laughed, blushing, as Mario rolled his eyes fondly and went to get the ball again. Toni put his own phone away and turned to Mario, who had picked up the ball.

"Let's play a game, dickhead," Toni said, beckoning for Mario to throw him the ball. "Me and Boa versus you and Jonas. And Miro, if he wants- you two will need an extra person if you want a chance to beat us."

Jerome shrugged- he didn't mind playing some basketball, even if his calves were hurting because of the number of vigorous step-ups he had done earlier. Jonas smiled. 

"Alright, then, auf geht's, du Hurensohn. Hey, Opa, do you want to play?" Mario called, glancing at Miro, who was happily reading a  _book,_ of all things. He hadn't been paying attention to the scene even when Mario had tried aiming the ball at his head. "Three versus two, we could use your dunking height."

Miro looked up from his page in surprise, and when he saw what Mario was offering, he gave a little helpless laugh. "I'm fine, thank you, Mario, that training session already took a lot out of me. I'm not like the rest of you, able to play sport for the whole day and then play  _more_ sport after that."

"Aw, come on!" Mario laughed, bouncing the ball to Toni. "Back in the day you were always up to showing us how a _real_ pro shoots. You decimated Michael back then." 

"Those days are long gone," Miro said almost wistfully. "I'll absorb myself in other thrilling pursuits, Mario, like finishing this chapter."

"Imagine reading a book for fun, what a world," Toni said, as everyone spread out to start the pick-up game. 

"Books aren't that bad," Jerome said, whilst wondering if he should take off his glasses- but he didn't have his contacts on him, and he was blind without any visual aid. "Just because _you_ have the intellect of a Madrid player, doesn't mean everyone else does." 

"Man, I thought ter Stegen was with Leroy and Mesami right now, but then you spoke and I realised he was right here instead. Crazy." 

"I want to switch teams," Jerome declared.

"No way," Mario said firmly. "Jonas is mine andI'm not giving him up." 

Jonas blushed. 

"You'll be giving up the whole game soon enough," Toni said cockily. "I've seen your shots, Gomez, you couldn't dunk _Leon's_ net." 

"Trash-talking already, the mark of a real play-  _that's cheating!_ " Mario was caught off guard as Toni started dribbling straight away, bouncing the ball to Jerome, who was totally unmarked. "I wasn't ready!"

"Then _get_ ready."

Jonas, to his credit, reacted remarkably to Toni's sneaky head-start and was instantly covering Jerome, who barely had any space to move. Jerome's massive height was to his advantage and he threw the ball above Jonas's height, but Jonas jumped and managed to intercept the ball immediately. Jerome blinked just like the white guy in the meme as Jonas dribbled into a safe area. 

"That... was not like the simulations," Jerome said, going to cover Mario, who was not quite on the same wavelength as Jonas and missed his pin-point accurate pass over Toni's head. Jerome seized the ball as Mario swore, and dunked the ball in the net. 

"Who's a real player now?" Toni said slyly. Mario gave him a dark look and Jonas just laughed and patted him on the back.

Toni's smugness disappeared at once as it became clear that Jonas's ability was  _not_ the same as Mario's, and that he was actually very difficult to surpass. Toni ended up losing the ball, and Jonas dribbled it straight to the hoop and managed to score past  _Jerome._

He set his jaw a little and decided to really engage his focus. He and Jerome managed to get past Mario as if he didn't even exist, but again Jonas was making life a pain with his covering and he actually managed to get a hand on the ball Toni threw- but he couldn't collect it. Jerome took it and sank it in without a problem. 

"My bad!" Mario said. "I was a bit distracted, there, but I'll be back on my  _game,_ now, I'm so ready."

"It's okay, no worries!" Jonas said, though Toni could see his expression was a bit pained.

"A bit distracted? You weren't there at all, Gomez," Toni scoffed. "You're channelling Lewandowski right now. Off your damn game."

Jerome smirked. He'd have to tell Robert about that later- Robert could produce some fine Real Madrid roasts when motivated.

They started up again. Jonas really was being quite ridiculous. He pivoted so fast around Toni that the man could barely react in time, and quickly threw the ball to Mario, who predictably fumbled it, but actually managed to quickly throw it before he dropped it to Jonas- and Jonas scored again.

"Wahey!" Mario called, pounding his chest, although he had done absolutely nothing. "Team goal! Or hoop! Goal or hoop?"

"Shut up, Gomez, you were useless," Toni said. "Jesus, when did you get so good, Jonas?"

"I'm not that good, but thanks," Jonas said with a soft smile. "I just used to play a lot when I was younger, along with football. It's fun."

"And he has me to motivate him!" Mario piped up. 

"Motivate him? _You?_ If anything, you're dragging him down. He'd be better playing on his own," Jerome informed him. Mario deflated a little.

"All I wanted to do was be there for my  _bro,_ " he said, pretending to be overcome by emotion. "Miro, these guys are abusing me." 

"Now, now, let's all try and be a little nicer to each other," Miro said, not even looking up from his book. 

"Even Miro doesn't care about you," Jerome snorted, as Mario gave Miro a stricken look.

Jonas hurried to reassure him.

"Really, you're fine, Mario, you're not bad at all, and it's just a pick-up game, it doesn't even matter," he said quickly. Mario's eyes softened and Toni laughed. 

"You should be giving him the  _Manu_ treatment, Jonas," he said. "Every time he makes a mistake that gets you guys scored against, yell at him until he cracks and becomes terrified of ever displeasing you again." 

"Would you like me to jump into a volcano without getting burned, too?" Jonas laughed his loud laugh again. Then he blushed. "Sorry. I could just never, ever do that!"

"Please don't," Mario said, shuddering. "I get enough shit as it is." 

"I wouldn't, there's nothing to even say," Jonas promised him.  _D'you really think I'd be fucking able to?_

"The entirety of this squad would like to disagree with that statement," Jerome murmured, and then he yelped as Mario grabbed his glasses off of his face and threatened to fling them through the hoop.

"I think you should stick up for yourself, once in a while, Jonas, mein Freund," Toni said jokingly, as Jerome and Mario wrestled. "Say,  _I'm not putting up with the bullshit anymore!_ You get enough of it from this squad.  Don't you ever get the urge to rip people apart?"

Jonas looked startled by the question. "I- well- I don't-"

"Stop trying to  _poison_ people, Toni," Jerome said, clapping a hand over Toni's mouth once he had easily snatched his glasses back. "You can't infect Jonas with your darkness. He will _resist_."

Toni shrugged, smacking Jerome's hand away from his face. "Letting a bit of darkness out is therapeutic, Boa. It works for me."

"Because you thrive off misery-"

"Do you know what else is therapeutic?" Mario said loudly, because he could tell Jonas was uncomfortable, now. "Me showing the haters what I can do. Let's go another few rounds playing _ball,_ not debating Jonas's ethical code, Kroos and Boateng. You won't be talking nonsense about  _me_ anymore." 

"Mario," Miro finally spoke up, knowing that Mario was impaling himself on his own sword with this statement. "That'll come and bite you in the ass."

"Miro," Mario said mockingly in return. "I believe in myself even if you don't, okay? I can do this."

"Of course I believe in you!" Miro protested. "I just don't want you to get  _hurt._ "

"There's no point trying to protect him, Miro, he's going to get his karma, now. Just like he always does," Toni said, cracking his knuckles. "Let's fucking  _go,_ Gomez." 

He stole the ball off Jonas and started dribbling again. Jonas half-jogged after him, casting a look at Mario as he did so.

The man hadn't moved a muscle.

***

Marco contended that he was better than Mats at everything humanly possible, but right now, that verdict was being tested. He and Mario had been challenged to a game of doubles tennis by Mats and Benni, and Marco had agreed out of sheer obstinancy to back down from a challenge, even though tennis was one of the few things he wasn't perfect at. Now he was regretting it. 

"How come you don't play football like this?" Marco snapped, as Mats smashed the ball out of his reach, earning him and Benni yet another point. He was forced to run and collect it before it bounced off into oblivion. 

Mats grinned and pretended to flip his hair. "Are you admitting I'm better than you?"

"When the fuck did I say that?" Marco groused, refusing to hand Mario the ball for the serve by holding it out of reach. "All I was saying is that you put more energy into a random fuck-off tennis game versus me and Mario than you do in one of your most important domestic fixtures of the year. Speaking of domestic fixtures-"

He threw the ball in the air and brought the racket down hard. The ball sailed not towards Mats, but at Benni, and struck the Schalke centre-back straight in the head. 

"That's a message from BVB to you guys," Marco said. Mario sighed.  _Here we go._ "See the colour of that ball? You just got hit by something that's yellow. It's prophetic." 

"Tennis balls are  _green,_ you fucking cricket bat," Benni snarled, rubbing his forehead as Mats had to turn away to hide his laugh. "You know, the colour you are whenever you see your club's former youth prospects flourishing elsewhere." 

Mats choked and Marco rushed towards the net with his racket raised. Mario had to bodily pull him back while Benni tossed the tennis ball up and down in the air, smirking. 

"You know what colours mix to make green?" Mario said, as Marco struggled against his grip. "Blue and yellow. So, draw, anyone-?"

"SHUT UP!" Benni and Marco yelled at the same time. 

Mario smirked as Marco broke away from him, looking horrified that his boyfriend could have suggested that Dortmund would do anything other than win against Schalke. 

"See? They agreed on something," Mario told Mats, whose lips were carefully sealed. "Both of them have something in common- they would rather die than get a draw. It's progress." 

"Progress is meant to be changing things up. We knew this from the beginning, Mario," Marco snapped. "The only progress that will be made in this is Herne-West's progression towards the relegation bracket."

Benni picked up the ball and 'served' it directly into Marco's face. Luckily Marco had been anticipating this and he caught it. 

"A ball by a Schalker misses its mark. Just like the sim- YARGH!" 

Mats had picked up his water bottle and had flung the contents over Marco whilst the man had been taunting Benni. It was the lucky the net was in between them- Mario managed to drag him backward again _j_ _ust_ in time. 

Jesus Christ. What had he even been expecting? Why had he ever agreed to playing this game? 

It wasn't even a game. It was just Mats smashing the ball out of Marco's reach and Mario and Benni trying to start a rally, which always ended with Marco trying to hit Mats in the face. Or Benni, just to prove a point. 

" _Are_ tennis balls green, though, Benni?" Mats asked serenely, when Mario had finally managed to calm Marco down. "They do look more like a fluorescant yellow to me-" 

"DON'T YOU START!"

"Look, why don't we all take a breather?" Mario suggested quickly, because things were going even more downhill very speedily and he was  _tired._ "You proved your point, Mats. You're better at Marco than tennis, your ego is now refreshed and rejuvenated after the voice crack. Let's move on and find something else to do-!"

" _Entschuldigung,_ bitte?" Marco demanded. " _Was?_ Kannst du das bitte wiederholen? Who's better than Marco at tennis?" 

"I am," Mats said, raising his hand as if he was in a schoolroom and giving an answer to the teacher's question. 

"Absolute fucking-"

"He is three sets up!" Mario said impatiently. "Just take the blow on this one, baby, you can't keep a rally to save your life-"

"A true Dortmund man, unable to keep something-" Benni began.

"Just like Fährmann-" 

"What did you have in mind, Mario?" Mats said loudly, as Benni's eyes flashed- he was sure he was going to burst out laughing at Marco's comments eventually, and that would just end up with him being killed- both from Benni's indignation and Marco's smugness. "What else should we do?" 

"Nothing with  _him-_ " Marco and Benni started at the same time.

"I was thinking we could do something that'd appeal to everyone!" Mario interrupted them, before yet another inane exchange could begin. "A task that could unite us all in the face of all this inter-club pettiness!"

All three of them looked skeptical. 

"You're asking for a lot, here, Mar. The only way I'd unite with these fucking goonies is if we were in an alternate universe where everything about them was different," Marco said suspiciously. "What are you thinking of?" 

"Believe me, you'll love this, baby. This is the shit you live for," Mario promised him. He raised his hands as if he was a showman (being Marco's boyfriend could really,  _really_ rub off on you sometimes) and made sure everyone was watching before he declared, "Steno!"

There were a few blinks from Mats and Benni, but Marco just sighed deeply. 

"Why are you looking me like that?" Mario demanded, especially of his boyfriend. "Isn't our mandate to interfere as much as fucking possible? Do you not remember Schweiniski? We can totally go and spy and Steno and find out if they're up to suspicious shit. We can get Manu in on it, too, it'd be hysterical. Plus, it'd be so easy to find shit out about them, too."

Mats grinned. "You know what, I'm down for that. As long as Manu isn't in the eviscerating mood." 

"He won't be, it's Steno," Mario said dismissively. "They're his life's work." 

"I dare you to tell him a gay, in denial couple is his life's work. To his face," Mats said.

"He should be  _proud,_ " Mario said. "You'd all be proud if you got Mesami together, after all." 

"Sadly, that emotion will remain unfelt by me for the foreseeable future," Benni sighed. "My sense of happiness doesn't depend on the impossible taking place."

"Aww, that's good. It would be a shame if you went off the deep end because Schalke never wins the Bundesliga," Marco said peacefully. 

" _Wo ist Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang?_ " 

"Anyway, Mario," Marco said very loudly, as even Mario had to inhale sharply. "I don't think spying on Steno will be a satisfying prospect for you, because they're literally not together right now. Marc's with Mesami and the Man City buffoon, and Bernd's with the kid and Brandt."

Mario deflated. "How'd you know that?" 

Marco waved an airy hand. "I know everything. Anyway, so, it's sort of a waste of time to go seeking them out, no? The real fun of this shit is when they're both forced together with the whole team around."

"It sounds to me like you don't even  _want_ them together, the way you've been reacting to this," Mario said grumpily, pouting. " _Oh, they're exactly the same, Mar, why are you looking for drama in this?_ The Marco I know would do everything in his power to expose them so they can finally stop hiding from this bullshit!"

"And because he feeds solely off of the pain of others," Mats muttered. "It makes him feel better about himself."

"That too," Mario said, and Marco, despite it all, couldn't help but feel a little hurt by this stinging assessment of his character. "What's the deal?"

"There's no  _deal,_ you water bottles, I'm just saying that there's no point in trying to stir up Steno until it's training or something. Gotta let them breathe at some point, too. Ter Stegen looked like he was gonna shit himself, before." 

Benni pretended to be astonished. "What a world. A waste of oxygen player from a waste of oxygen club saying that we should let people breathe."

"Ugh, fine," Mario said in disappointment. "I feel like this is a wasted opportunity, but there'll be other chances. I'll concede, this time." 

He instantly realised his poor choice of wording the second he spoke. Mats knew it too.

"Do you know what that reminds me of, Mar?" Marco said gently. "SCHALKE CONCEDING 3 AWAY DURING-" 

" _YOU THREW AWAY A 4-0 LEAD AT HOME AFTER HALF-TIME!_ "

***

 _bayern won the bundesliga_  

 **Kai:** omg guys so...!

 **Kai:** i hope you are not Asleep because it is late and that i am not distrubing any shenanigans

 **Kai:** i feel a bit Werid starting off conversatios in this group chat because i feel like people with AUTHORITY should start them so if i am like stealing somebodys job at starting conversations im sorry!!!! 

 **Kai:** but!!! i just wanted to say something!!! that i just rememebred to say!!!

 **Thomas:** it's ok. better than hearing an insight from the likes of reus.

 **Thomas:** go ahead kid

 **Thomas:** what's on your mind

 **Kai:** i just wanted to say!

 **Kai:** a big huge enormous thank you to literally everyone for my first day of training with the senior national team!!! 

 **Kai:** it has been such a cool mindblowing experience finally getting to play along with my HEROES and i cannot even imagine young me ever thinking it'd happen so right now i'm feeling so happy!

 **Kai:** ur all the COOLEST of the COOL thank you for being so nice to me too and like i hope things are gonna go really well!!!

 **Jonas:** Awww Kai it's really our pleasure to have you you're really an amazing player, I really think you might get your chance to play!!! 

 **Kai:** for real?? :D

 **Jonas:** For real!

 **Kai:** stop my whole face is broken from smiling!

 **Kai:** thank you jonas hctor!!!!! 

 **Mesut:** jonas is right kid. i thought i'd hate you honestly because people say ur my replacement but you're just that good i can't complain

 **Sami:** Not like anyone's there to listen to you complain anyway.

 **Mesut:** yeah...

 **Mesut:**  i know :(

 **Kai:** :O

 **Kai:** NO WAY !

 **Kai:** fabrications!

 **Kai:** libel!

 **Kai:** slander against the queen of creativity himself!

 **Kai:** i am nowhere absolutely nowhere near your level mesut i am like an ant at the bottom of mount kilimanjaro (i think that is how u spell it??) and u are at the peak 

 **Sami:** Also true. The ant bit I mean

 **Kai:** :o

 **Julian B:** shut the fuck up khedira you salt shaker

 **Julian B:** schweinsteiger outshadows you in every possible way

 **Basti:** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 **Basti:** sometimes it be like that

 **Sami:** I know he's your friend but words hurt.

 **Julian B:** they were meant to.

 **Bernd:** hey kid, ignore anything khedira says he literally is incapable of comprehending things right in front of his eyes so he wouldn't be able to comprehend how good you are :)

 **Bernd:** im glad you're part of the team now, have missed you all the times i've been called up

 **Sami:** So not a lot then

 **Bernd:** i missed it when you kept your fucking mouth shut

 **Mesut:** don't be naive. he can't do that.

_Private chat between Julian Brandt and Leon Goretzka_

**Leon:** can't close it bc mesut's dick's in it

 **Julian B:** say it i fucking dare you

 **Leon:** i'm rooming with fips. i have some self preservation instinct.

 **Julian B:** wouldn't be able to tell it from the way you play around manu

 **Leon:** THIS ISN'T ABOUT ME FOCUS ON MESAMI

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Kai:** thank you bernd omggggggg :'))))) im so glad wecan talk again more too!!! i msised you sooo much ever since you went to arsenal but now we have a second team together!

 **Toni:** You're good Kai. Leverkusen too, not much gone wrong there

 **Kai:** aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa :))) thank you so much coming from the GOAT!!

**Jerome:**

**Julian B:** kai you've called at least every person in the squad a GOAT at this point.

 **Julian B:** am i one?

 **Kai:** no !

 **Leroy:** why would you be one when i exist?

 **Julian B:** because you're not a good player

 **Leroy:** ok i don't knwo what the fuck i expect anymore

 **Leroy:** also no apology from kai for the disrespect so he isn't a jonas confirmed

 **Kai:** it isn't disrespect!!!

 **Kai:** it's the truth !

 **Julian B:** yeah ok kai. bosz still called u out in front of everyone for what u did to jonathan in that drill

 **Kai:** i'm sorry jule !

 **Julian B:** that's what i thought

 **Thomas:** what he say 

 **Leon:** ayyyy lmao let's hear this

 **Julian B:** kai's learnt his lesson.

 **Kai:** now he has emotional blackmail over me D:

 **Fips:** Happens to every player, Kai. 

 **Leon:** that's ominous fisp

 **Leon:** who has ur nudes

 **Julian D:** Jogi

 **Joshua:** probably julian with how much of a slut he is

 **Julian D:** OH MY GOD

 **Fips:** Don't be ridiculous.

 **Fips:** Neither of them would be able to handle it.

 **Leon:** WHO WOULD BE ABLE TO

 **Fips:** That's for me to know.

 **Basti:** so that's the new conspiracy huh? fips' sexual orientation? his ASSETS?

 **Basti:** fips are you gay

 **Fips:** There was a tiny voice in my mind telling me not to engage with you reprobates. It told me, "it's going to end with you wanting to take your own eyeballs out again. Don't do it. There'll be stupid questions and comments for eternity".

 **Fips:** I did not heed the warnings.

 **Thomas:** fips are you gay

**Fips:**

**Leon:** fips are you gay

 **Fips:** I will get Manuel on you all.

 **Mats:** i've never backspaced on writing a meme so hard

 **Marco:** pussy bitch.

 **Marco:** hey fips

 **Fips:** Reus.

 **Marco:** are you gay

 **Fips:** I won't even try leaving. I'll just go to sleep. And remain that way.

 **Kai:** hey fips !!!

 **Fips:** You are 19 years old, and are at the beginning of a glorious career. Let's try and keep it that way.

 **Kai:** i was just going to say because u are going to sleep-- thank u for being a Cool Captain today!!

 **Fips:**... Thank you, Havertz.

 **Kai:** also !

 **Kai:** are you gay

 **Fips:** Manuel is. 

 **Fips:** I've heard that increases his aggression.

**Thomas:**

**Marco:** _jerome boateng has left bayern won the bundesliga_

**Jerome:** i want to

 **Kai:** oh shit wait no!

 **Kai:** abort!! 

 **Kai:** i am sorry fips!!!! i take it back!!!! your sexual orientation is yours to disclose and not for us to press you about!!!!

 **Kai:** please don't set manu on me!!!!

 **Fips:** Welcome to the team, Kai.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this fic conte is the manager for italy. although i fucking hate italy and the teams conte has coached *coughch*lsea* 2016 conte did some impressive shit with italy getting them to a quarter final of all things. 
> 
> speaking of people being in places they shouldn't be, someone asked about the places of certain players because reality is all fucked up. buffon is still at juventus because nobody in their right minds think of PSG when they think of him. plus i like buffon and wanted a way to give him a scene in this fic, and nobody likes PSG. spekaing of PSG julian draxler has been getting off TOO easily i realised. PSG jokes from one joshua kimmich and benedikt höwedes incoming.
> 
> rolando is at real madrid because i fucking despise him and madrid and him being there is the best way i can maximise hatred levels. plus i don't see rolando as a juventus player. just like i don't see benni as a lokomotiv player or any nonsense like that. bernd is still a leverkusen player in my HEART buut for fic purposes he had to be at arsenal. believe me it's difficult writing some of these guys at the clubs they're at- evne leon at bayern is weird.julian is still at wolfsburg in my mind!!! and sometimes i even mistake mesut for a bremen player lol
> 
> now i wish i had left miro at bremen. 
> 
> some bayern won the bundesliga action in this one too :)
> 
> yikes long end note but again i love you all, hope you enjoyed, my obligatory 'hope it wasn't shit' message aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 8!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus leute, wie geht's? yesterday was my birthday and i'm 20 now :o but that doesn't mean this chapter is going to be long and funny and sweet. sorry guys. i like to subvert expectations :(
> 
> warnings for this chapter: it's been a little too fluffy recently considering how bad my mood has been so this chapter actually contains some real angst and some serious stuff (not for self-indulgence-i've been wanting to touch on some of these topics for a while). it touches on the topic of robert enke, german NT+ hannover goalkeeper who committed suicide in 2009. if this is a triggering topic please read with discretion- there is nothing at all graphic and it's more of an insight into what happenedbut i understand these things are difficult so just be careful.

In the weeks they had been staying here, the weather in South Africa had been blisteringly hot, with the sunlight never ceasing to poke players in the eye during training- to little sympathy from Jogi in his sunglasses. Complaints had flown about from the moment they had stepped off the plane, about _sweat_  and about the _heat_ and about how _bright_ it was outside. But now, as Manu drifted across the training pitch with the turf almost slippery under his feet, the sky was as stormy as Gelsenkirchen on an autumn evening.

And it was cold.

That was strange, but what was stranger was the emptiness of the space around him. The training ground was usually full of staff milling about, whilst Jogi yelled encouragement or criticism at the team, with cones and ladders and stray balls lying around all over the place. Now there was nothing. Just the green of the ground beneath his feet and the trees that surrounded the centre they were staying in.

The goalposts were in the near distance.

Manu moved as though he were in a trance towards the net he had been standing in front of throughout the whole of the training camp experience so far, diving and rolling to stop shots, whilst attracting Jogi's praise. There was no need for the overly momentous sensation in his heart- it almost felt like he was heading to his goal in a huge cup final, but as far as he was concerned, nothing was going on at all. Everything was... still.

When he _reached_ the goalposts, he felt as though he wasn't meant to be here.

He stared at the net rippling in the wind, at the expanse of training ground behind it all, at how empty everything was.

It all felt wrong.

And then, after a while of this empty _staring_ , he suddenly felt compelled to crouch down. He did so tentatively, as though afraid of what might happen... and then he saw something.

Lying in front of him, tossed away and lying forlornly in the mud, was a pair of goalkeeper gloves.

They weren't his. But he  _knew_ who they belonged to. Manu could remember the sight of the gloves wrapped around a pair of hands as clearly as though he had seen them in the flesh.

He hadn't. He had caught a brief flash of them on television as there was a replay of a save...

And it had been an amazing one. Rushing forwards off his line and stopping the ball just like that, killing the play before a shot could take place, just like Manu himself had done on so many occasions. Hannover were lucky they had him that game. 

And two days later...

 _Don't,_  he thought, dropping the gloves as though they had burnt him.  _Don't think about it._

There was an emptiness in _goal_ , a feeling that something... or someone... wasn't there. Someone who  _should_ have been there.

Manu was nothing more than an intruder.

_South Africa. The Weltmeisterschaft of 2010. A phone call from Jogi._

_And a terrible, terrible loss._

Manu's head was hurting. _Stop. Stop it._

_He was meant to be here. He was meant to be the number one keeper. Things were looking up, his form had been great. People were starting to take notice of what they had refused to see._

"Please," he said aloud, to nobody.

_And then, just like that, it was over. The world was against him. The pressure became too much. It wasn't fair._

He squeezed his eyes shut. It wasn't fair. It  _wasn't._ He had deserved so much more...

_But he didn't get it... the world didn't listen to him... it never listens... it just takes and takes. Rich or poor, young or old, it takes, takes, takes. You can't stop it._

No. He _was_ going to stop it. He was seeing a fucking therapist, now. That hauntingly empty space in goal had eventually been filled, and Robert Enke had never been forgotten. People were learning from their mistakes.  _He_ was learning from his mistakes.

Enke had been haunting him since 2010. Since the day the news had broke and everyone in Germany had looked twice at each other and had wondered what was really going on beneath the surface. Since he had stepped between the posts in South Africa with the hope that things would be different...

"I'm so sorry," Manu said aloud. "It's so cruel, the way things work out. I'm sorry I took your place. I'm sorry nobody ever saw what was happening to you. I'm sorry that the world never listened to you. I'm  _sorry._ But I'm trying to change things." 

Silence. There was nobody here to hear him.

Manu turned away from the goal out of a desperation to change his own thoughts, his eyes burning. When he did, he drew to a halt almost immediately.

Someone was standing in front of him, someone who hadn't been there before. 

A goalkeeper. Smaller than him. His head shaved. With a little sad smile on his face.

And his hands bare.

Manu awoke with a jolt, gasping, the room dim yet feeling so painfully bright against his eyes.

Thomas was next to him, his face full of concern, leaning over him. When he saw that Manu was awake, his whole face seemed to transform with relief.

“Mein Gott, Manu,” he whispered, thumbing away the tears that were falling from his boyfriend’s eyes. This time Manu didn't even try to stop them. “I’m so sorry, Schatz. You’re okay. You're okay. It was just another dream.”

"Another one," Manu murmured back, feeling almost numb. " _Another one._ "

"It's okay, Manu, it's okay," Thomas said quietly. "What have I told you?  _Setbacks happen._ You haven't even started getting help yet, this is not some sort of sign or symbol that things won't get better."

Manu shook his head, trying to take several deep breaths but failing. "I know. I know. But that dream... mein Gott... in that dream... I saw Enke." 

Thomas's whole face went pale.

"No, no, Thommy," Manu said very quickly, knowing at once what Thomas must be thinking. " _Nothing_ like that.  _Never._ I swear that to you. But still... it was somehow worse than any one I've had."

"What happened?" Thomas said hoarsely. 

Manu closed his eyes. "It- it was South Africa. The goalposts in the training centre. And it was fucking empty. There was nobody around. Not a sound in the air. And then... I saw his gloves.  I somehow still fucking remembered that they were  _his,_ and I saw them in a match nearly a decade ago. And then I started  _thinking._ About how he was meant to be there, about how I took his place, about how unfair it all was for him-"

He broke off, unable to continue for a few moments. Thomas held onto him until he could continue.

"And I thought, things are going to change," he said finally. "It's going to get better for me, it has to, I know it will. But when I turned away from the goal, I saw  _him,_ just  _standing_ there, no gloves on his fucking hands. He was just a ghost in a dream, nothing like what he was, nothing like what I _should_ have seen him as, as flesh and blood and warmth and... hope. He must have had hope, once in a while, Thommy-" 

"Of course he did," Thomas whispered. "Everyone does." 

"And I know that even though we're learning from our mistakes, even though things are different and  _will_ be different for me, it's too late for him. It won't bring him back. I feel so fucking horrible about it all. He deserved so much more. The world didn't listen to him. He didn't make a sound when it caved in on him."

Manu shook his head heavily, not sure how he was still speaking eloquently, emotions were crashing in on him so hard.

"It was cruel," Thomas said quietly, after some silence. "That Enke couldn't see a way forwards. That the world didn't acknowledge how hard he tried, that after all the tragedies he faced it didn't give him a break. I wish he could have seen how significant he was. When the news was told, I saw Fips, our Fips, break down and cry helplessly. Germany was devastated. He was so important, he couldn't-" 

"But nobody saw it before he went!" Manu whispered. "There was all the fucking criticism. Enke with the mistakes, the bottler, the failure. Nobody viewed him as important. There was all that pressure on him, and nobody thought to relieve it from his shoulders. They just kept on pushing." 

Thomas winced. "Yes. You're right." 

"I swear, Thommy," Manu said almost desperately. "I'm going to see this therapy thing out to the end. I'm going to get better. I'm going to fight through this even if the fucking world finds out and starts labelling me the 'depressed keeper, the unstable one'. For Enke's memory. He wouldn't want to see anyone suffer like him. He wanted to believe there was hope in the world and I'll show that there is. I can... I can fight this pressure off. I _can._ " 

"Yes. Yes. Think like that, Manu," Thomas said quietly. "It's what you've always done. Robert was a good man. I've heard stories about him from Per, and Mario, Fips, Basti, Lukas and Miro... Honour his memory by fighting through everything. It's what we  _all_ owe to him. Everyone on this team and everyone who plays for it in the future."

***

That morning, Mesut, Sami,  Bernd and Marc-Andre all hadn't appeared in the breakfast room yet, and so interest was instantly piqued as to what could be causing their absence. Even Mats was down before them, and that really was a cause for concern, because Jogi was usually at his wit's end (and given what he had to put up with every day, that was saying something) trying to get him out of bed. The coach was looking extremely grouchy as he surveyed the rowdy, bickering gang of fools, having jumped off the yacht that was normal life and onto the sinking ship that was heading this fucking team.

"Where are Khedira, Özil, ter Stegen and Leno?" he demanded of Basti, who was eating a banana. Basti didn't even blink under the force of his coach's accusatory glower.

"Why are you asking me? It's not like I'm rooming with them," he said serenely.

"You all are so interfering you know everything about each other even when you're not rooming together," Jogi said with a disbelieving look.

Basti shrugged. Where was the lie, really? "True, but this time I really do have no idea. Ask Marco. He makes it his personal business to know everything about Mesut and Sami so he can cause them both trouble. And if you want to know about Marc-Andre and Bernd, ask Leroy. Because he can't keep a secret."

"Why would it be a secret if he told me where they were?" Jogi asked in exasperation. "I just need training to start on time. Why do you all make everything weird?"

"This team is complex," Basti said mysteriously.

"This team has a complex. Everyone under the sun," Jogi muttered under his breath. He sighed, prepared for the worst. "REUS!"

Marco, who was flicking seeds from his cereal at Mats (there was a vein pulsing in the defender's forehead), looked up, and when he saw it was Jogi calling he shot to his feet at once, doing a salute.

"SIR!" he said, so loudly he made poor Jonas next to him almost fall out of his chair and Mario's well-worn eyes to roll for the hundredth time that morning alone. "At your service, ready to do anything you ask of me, willing to give my life to the-"

"Where are Özil and Khedira?" Jogi asked briskly, cutting through the theatrics and determined not to let the conversation run away into idiocy again.

All he wanted was a simple answer. That was it. That was all he ever wanted. Simplicity. Unfortunately, a foreboding grin that Jogi decidedly did not like the look of spread across Marco's face. Luckily, however, before the man could open his mouth and exhibit his talent for speaking shit, he was interrupted by the arrival of the the two people in question themselves.

"There they are!" Jogi said hastily. "No need for your little explanation, now, Reus."

Marco looked disappointed, and Mario pulled him back into his seat. Just as this happened, Mats, sick of Marco's assault by seeds, saw his chance, picked up the loaf of bread Jonas had just reached for and flung it across the table, so it hit him in the face.

Marco fell out of his seat.

"A Lüdenscheid Nord player getting knocked down by a Bayern player. Just like those goddamn simulations," Benni said, content with the world.

When Mats had been condemned to three extra laps and Marco to four for saying something _very_ rude about Benni, Jogi turned to berate Mesut and Sami.

"Why are you two so late?" he demanded. "You are aware training begins at a certain time, and you should be downstairs at the appropriate-"

"Our shower head broke!" Mesut protested. "We had to get someone to come and fix it, it's not our fault-"

"They're both too big to fit in there together, they should've known," Toni muttered, causing Jerome to spit out his drink and have to be slapped on the back. Fips heard the comment and had to control the twitching of his lips.

Jogi was not impressed by this excuse and continued to lecture the two of them about punctuality while Toni's comment travelled around the table and everyone started giggling. Finally, when Jogi was done with Mesut and Sami, he yelled:

"Where are ter Stegen and Leno!"

"I'm here, Jogi, Jesus," an idle voice came from the doorway. In entered Bernd, whose expression was a neutral mask. "Where's the fire?"

"The fire will be lit under your ass if you don't learn some discipline, Leno!" Jogi yelled. "We are due to start training soon, but because you all still need to eat breakfast we are delayed-"

"What's the problem?" Bernd interjected. "It's not like I'm going to be getting any game time anyway, I'm not that big of a loss."

There were whistles up and down the table and Kai winced heavily. Jogi's lecture turned to Bernd taking all aspects of training seriously regardless of play-time while Marco, who was still rubbing his head injured by bread, paused in the midst of his ranting about Mats and Benni and frowned.

"It doesn't matter if you're not getting any game time now," Manu said sharply, as Bernd sat down besides Kai when Jogi was done, looking moody. "You know how quickly things can change, anything can happen to me or Marc-Andre and put you in the starting lineup before you know it. So you have to be prepared at all times. I don't want to hear this sort of attitude from you again, Leno. Understood?"

Bernd said nothing. Manu's expression darkened.

"I said, understood?" he said again, his voice steady and yet dangerous at the same time.

Thomas gave his boyfriend a wary look. Miro thought he definitely looked worse for wear.

"Fine, yeah, sorry," Bernd muttered. Manu's tone alone had more of an impact on him than Jogi's whole speech- he managed to refrain himself from commenting further and just got himself a slice of toast instead.

Kai looked at the glowering Manu nervously and then to Bernd. Bernd hadn't anticipated becoming actually annoyed when he had come down, his original comment having been a joke, but now here he was.

"Bernd, are you alright?" Kai said anxiously, his mouth full of banana.

"Fine," Bernd said coldly, spreading his toast.

Kai decided it would probably be best if he just quietly ate his fruit.

When Marc-Andre arrived, there were the usual wolf-whistles, and Jogi looked as though he was about to start yelling just as he had done with the last three in. But Marc-Andre went right up to Jogi and muttered something in his ear, causing the man to instead nod in understanding and jerk his head towards the table.

Bernd frowned.

"Everything alright, Marc, how come you're down so late?" Leroy asked with a smirk as Marc-Andre sat next to him and reached for a drink, trying to ignore everyone's gazes on him. "And how come Jogi didn't rip you apart? You're the last one here."

"Had something to do," Marc-Andre said vaguely.

"And what was that?" Julian Draxler asked, wiggling his eyebrows. "Tell us all the scandalous details... Oh my God, Josh, that wasn't even slutty!"

"Why do you want to know the scandalous details, huh?"

As Julian and Josh dissolved into bickering, relieving him of having to respond, Marc-Andre met Bernd's eyes across the table. Bernd's eyebrows were creased quizzically, but Marc-Andre just gave him a little shrug to assure him, it was nothing.

Bernd tipped his head forwards. Marc-Andre smiled a little. And then his gaze travelled to the right as he felt eyes on his head.

Marco was watching the entire non-verbal exchange.

Marc-Andre choked on some water. When Bernd noticed that he had been watching too, he quickly flipped up his middle finger to protect himself and looked away from him at once.

But when  Marc-Andre chanced a glance at Marco to see if he was still keeping an eye on them, he saw that the man wasn't even looking at them at all. 

***

It was during circuits that Mesut and Sami found an opportunity to talk. For the whole morning so far, Jogi had been pushing them as though they were about to play the World Cup final, and absolutely lost his mind if he caught them chatting to each other during the early drills. Nobody quite knew what had gotten their coach's goat  _this_ hard (they suspected it had something to do with Mats and Thomas, given that they were running around the field at that very moment), but none of them dared to ask what had happened for fear they'd be condemned to extra laps too. Mesut and Sami had only communicated through winks and pointed stares so far, but they finally got their time to wind down as Miro and Kai began the course and they lingered at the back of the line.

"Christ alive," Sami muttered, as the two watched Jogi stalking up and down whilst trying not to giggle. "What the hell did they do to make him this mad?"

"Probably something wildly stupid and reckless. Hummels and Müller are dangerous at this point. Not fit to mingle with others," Mesut snorted. "I'm surprised Reus didn't get involved with this one, though."

"He's got to rest, sometimes, Mes, even he can't be annoying every second of every hour of every day," Sami said. "Havertz, on the other hand..." 

He watched Kai complete the circuit as quickly as though it didn't exist- Miro, who was only halfway through, gave him a disgruntled look and Mario yelled out, "Don't worry, Opa, it's not a competition!"

"God, Sam," Mesut said amusedly. "It's like you have a grudge against every damn person in the world. What has he even done to you?"

"He's a little twit," Sami said passionately. "Yeah, he's good and all, but he can't keep himself still, he's always chattering on and on and he says a whole lot of nonsense, too."

_And he keeps talking about Olivier fucking Giroud, but I know if I bring that up you'll start asking questions and things will just get awkward again._

"Sounds exactly like Thomas, but you don't have a problem with  _him,_ " Mesut pointed out. "He's a sweet kid. Plus, he doesn't talk that much around me. Maybe you're just nitpicking. Then again, that's what you always do. Someone could move one inch too close to you and you'd hate them until the end of your life."

"I don't  _hate_ him. He's too young and hasn't done anything for me to feel like that.  I just find him annoying," Sami grumbled. "And he doesn't talk around you because he  _hero-_ worships you."

Mesut wiggled his eyebrows. "So I think we know what the problem is, eh? You're jealous that Havertz loves me and nobody will ever love you the same way, because Basti is better than you."

Sami almost fell over a cone in his indignation. 

"Absolute bullshit," he declared. "First of all, I wouldn't want someone to worship me and then actually become better than me, like Havertz is doing to you. I'd like to be one of a kind."

"He's not  _better_ than me, are you insane?" Mesut said crossly. "And the only way _you'd_ be one of a kind is if every other central midfielder just spontaneously combusted. You're a dime a dozen, Khedira."

"He  _will_ be better than you, then," Sami said dryly. "Look at him now, Mes. He's pretty damn amazing. He's going to go to places while Arsen- HEY!"

Sami had been cut off mid-sentence by Mesut picking up the cone and ramming it over his head. For a moment, Sami looked like he was wearing a large hat and Niklas and Joshua, who were in front of them, looked back and grinned appreciatively. Sami pulled the cone off of his head and tried to stab Mesut with it, but Mesut was fast and avoided it. It didn't stop Sami's assault, and eventually he managed to jab Mesut in the side, causing the man to cackle as it hit a sensitive spot. 

"KHEDIRA AND ÖZIL! YOU'LL BE DOING THESE THREE TIMES IF YOU DON'T STOP HORSING AROUND!" Jogi yelled, when he saw them shithousing.

The two stopped at once, but were indignant at the same time. 

"We're at the back of the line, Jesus Christ," Sami said in aggrieved tones. "He's just being annoying at this point."

"Just like you," Mesut snapped, rubbing his side. "You know what, Sam, I really didn't fucking miss  _you._ You're such a dickhead." 

"Love you too." The two of them moved forwards as Miro finally finished the circuit and Basti and Lukas took the helm. "You're always complaining, Mes, but you know that every time we meet again you feel warmth inside."

"Your mother feels warmth when I lie on top of her." 

"Italy's a beautiful place, and we win everything, so there isn't much to complain about," Sami continued as if Mesut hadn't spoken. 'Your mother' jokes had genuinely just become par for the course in any conversation at this point and there was no comeback to them anymore. "But, man, sometimes it feels like something's missing." 

"Your club's integrity?"

Sami gave Mesut a dirty look. "So you complain when I derail conversations, but then you go ahead and do it yourself." 

Mesut gave a guilty laugh. "Sorry. I guess it's a habit we both share. I just don't like thinking about sad stuff, you know? I really do miss you when you're gone, and the international break, even with everyone being a dickhead, is a good time for me to talk to you without feeling that sense of loneliness or baggage. So I try and avoid those topics when they come up. It's just easier." 

"Hmm, that's true," Sami mumbled. "But I guess that means we never talk about it at all."

"Do you really want to?" Mesut asked, shrugging. "We're in a good place right now, Sam. If we start thinking about all the ifs and buts then it all just makes us both feel sad, it makes us distracted and start overthinking. And we're so far apart half the time that our lives take over and there's barely any time to think about this all anyway- if we did it'd make things so hard. You're always missing someone in professional football. It's just how the sport works. No point of dwelling on it, or we'll end up like Schweinsteiger and Podolski." 

"Yeah," Sami said, though he felt something strange inside of him. "The good thing is we know we'll always be friends. No matter who or what gets involved. Times might change but we won't, right, Mes?" 

His words were uncertain.

"Always," Mesut said, smiling warmly at him. "We'll stay as we always have been. That is, if you keep your act together and don't lapse  _too_ much into dickheadery. Then I might have to change my mind."

It was almost like Mesut was trying to close off the conversation. But Sami paid it no heed.

"Mes?" he said almost urgently, not paying attention to this new diversion.

"Sam?"

He wanted to say something, he really did. His words were mixing up in his own head, though, and all he could think about was how maybe,  _maybe,_ times would change, but maybe they _wouldn't_ be able to keep up with it if it happened, and maybe they really did need to talk about this instead of evading it-

But it was their turn for the circuit, next, so he jogged up to the first cone instead and decided, once _again_ , to leave everything on his mind unsaid. And he was getting almost fed up of it.

***

There was something wrong with Marco.

Jonas saw it as confirmed from the moment he had dispossessed the man during a tackling drill. He had flinched backwards at once, expecting to get yelled at, but Marco didn't even look at him at first- he just picked up his knee with one hand. And when he turned around, Jonas saw he looked somewhat pained.

"Are- are you alright, Marco?" Jonas asked anxiously, as Marco flexed his leg a little. "I didn't tackle you too hard, did I? I lost control of my momentum, there-"

Marco shook his head, not looking at him. "N-Nah. It's not you, don't worry. My leg's just been twinging a bit, recently. Must be a signal that I'm going to be scoring a game-winning goal soon, eh?"

Deflections upon deflections. This team was full of naturals at evading. Marco was keeping his tone deliberately casual, but Jonas wasn't fooled whatsoever. There was obviously more to this. For one thing, the knee Marco was clutching was the one he had ruptured last season- the season in which he had missed twenty eight games.

 _He's talking bullshit. Just ask him about it, you fucking pussy_ , he snarled at himself. _It's clearly more than just a twinge. He's been holding that thing since he finished his laps this morning. And you didn't even tackle him that hard._

Jonas opened his mouth to speak, but Marco had already placed his foot tentatively back on the ground and moved back to position.

"Let's go again," he said. Jonas hesitated.

_Ask him, you clown!_

"Marco-" he began, but then he faltered as Marco's gaze whipped to his face. His expression couldn't have been clearer. _He didn't want to talk about it._

"What?" Marco said, a little sharply.

"I- It's nothing," Jonas said, shaking his head a little. "Sorry. Let's go. You sure you're okay-?"

"For fuck's sake, I'm fine, okay?" Marco said in frustration. Jonas flinched, nodded quickly and returned to his own position.

_Du schwach Hurensohn!_

They resumed the drill. Marco's dribbling was noticeably slower than before and it was almost easy for Jonas to tackle him. This time Marco swore, leaning down to clutch his knee again.

Jonas paused with his foot on the ball, now unable to stay silent. "Marco, are you sure you can continue? If your leg is hurting too much, it'll be too difficult for you to play-"

"Hot fucking take, Hector," Marco growled, holding onto his knee with a visceral wince on his face. Jonas stopped talking at once. "Fuck's sake! Verdammtes Knie!"

 _Go off and see the physio, you idiot!_ Jonas wanted to yell at him. But instead he just stammered, "It'd- it'd probably be best if you took a break, and if it keeps hurting, you should really go to Dr Wolfhart..."

Marco looked like he wanted to swear at Jonas, but the fact of the matter was the left-back was right. He probably did need to go and see Dr Müller-Wolfhart. His knee had been troubling him since this morning. And now it was hurting like a bitch.

"Pferdescheiße," he muttered. "Yeah, I'll go and see Wolfhart. I feel like my knee's going to fucking cave in. Fuck's sake."

"He'll be able to help you out," Jonas mumbled. "You don't want to make the pain worse by playing on. Jogi will understand."

"Second fucking day, and this _bullshit_ is happening again, on and off with this pain, I can't fucking take this shit!" Marco snarled, placing his foot on the ground once more and wincing. "I swear to God, if my knee keeps acting up, and it means I get put on the bench _again_ -"

His face darkened even more and he shook his head.

"I'll tell Jogi," Marco said decisively. "It's the only thing I can do. This is too much."

And then he winced as he thought about how he had just acted. "Oh, man, Jonas, I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean to be so shitty to you. It just hurts a lot, please don't take what I say seriously-"

Jonas was surprised that Marco was actually apologising, but he shook it off and said in one breath anyway:

"No need to apologise it's fine it doesn't matter as long as you're okay you can say whatever you like!" 

"No, I can't," Marco said firmly. "Not without you saying shit to me back. See you later, okay?"

He smiled a little, leaving Jonas flustered, before turning around and walking to where Jogi was on the sidelines. The coach noticed the way Marco was carrying himself immediately, and nodded as Marco said something to him in a low voice, patting his back as he left.

Mario was by Jonas's side a moment later, slightly out of breath and with his eyes round- he had run over from where he was doing his drill with Fips.

"Jonas? Where did Marco go? Is he okay? Why was he walking like that?" he said anxiously.

"His knee was hurting," Jonas said. "He's going to see the physio now, don't worry, Mario."

"Shit!" Mario said, covering his mouth with his hand. "His knee? Fuck, that's not good. He was complaining about it the other day, God, I hope it's not acting up-"

"It should be fine, Mario," Jonas said soothingly. "He's gone to see Dr Wolfhart, he'll be able to help. Hopefully the issue shouldn't impact the Netherlands match."

Mario still looked like he was on the verge of real panic. 

Marco was feeling it himself as he stumped off towards the physio, resolutely shoving past Mats as the man opened his mouth to jokingly call after him, asking him if he was running away.

He knew it was ridiculous- some pain shouldn't have been making him feel so agitated, especially not when he had experienced it so much before- but the recent influx of news about injury crises had really been eating away at his mind recently, and he hadn't been able to push it away. The announcement that  _Andy Murray_ of all people would be retiring because of the pain his hip injury had been causing him, and about how he hadn't been able to handle it eventually, had really terrified him. He had always managed to recover from all his various injuries in the past, he was still around and kicking, but he was so vulnerable, too, and sometimes he felt agony whilst playing. 

He  _hated_ going to the physiotherapist. He was diligent with all his excercises and he tried his best to comply with all the relentless recovery practices because he was so desperate to _play_ football. But he had gone through arduous procedures almost too many times at this point, and every time he felt pain all he felt was the fear that he was going to have to go through it all again. So he tried to play through it, possibly recklessly so, but he was human, and he got so fed up sometimes... 

He half-nodded at some technical staff milling around but he couldn't think of a single wisecrack to make, nor could he even make eye contact for that long. He was getting angrier by the second- it was an  _irrational response,_  he knew that,but he had been bottling things up recently and now was just going to be the time where it all came out- 

He inhaled sharply. _No it isn't._ _You are not a fucking idiot, Marco, who gets emotional because of a twinge in your knee. Imagine if the team saw you getting into a state over this. Pull yourself together._

He marched towards the offices, his jaw set. No hint of weakness was going to escape him.

***

For the first time in his life, Bernd could say he was happy about receiving a physiotherapy appointment. For one reason and one reason only- Marc-Andre had one too, and it meant both of them would be able to miss a portion of training. 

Fortunately, it seemed that no other player would be receiving any treatments today. Marco usually seemed to live inside the treatments block but this time he was thankfully well away, being distracted by the rest of the team. Nobody seemed to care about their departure other than the usual wolf-whistles and inappropriate comments, Manu just jerking his head in annoyance as he did his own individual training. He definitely didn't seem to be in the mood for any sort of joking today. 

When they were out of sight from the team, and were sure that they were alone, they both breathed a huge sigh of relief, feeling as though they had just escaped a wolf-den. They made sure to hide at a corner where nobody was in sight, not wanting to go into the rooms yet. Marc-Andre actually leaned against the wall, clutching his heart, once they stopped.

"They were going to give me fucking heart failure," he said almost breathlessly. "Leon and Draxler were fucking ganging up on me, and Leroy was no help, just like the useless fucker he is. Boateng couldn't get involved, though, they were making sex joke after sex joke so he was thankfully knocked out of commission."

"You got bullied by Goretzka and Draxler? You fucking loser. I had to put up with the likes of Brandt and  _Fips._ I swear, that man likes to preach the moral high ground, but he doesn't even know where that shit is. He's one of the worst when he gets going," Bernd said glumly. "I have no idea how we've managed to survive two days of this shit, Marc, I really don't."

"Maybe going to the Netherlands will distract them all," Marc-Andre said desperately. "I'm losing my mind here. They're like dogs on a piece of meat.  _We're_ the meat. And not in a good way!"

"How would it ever be in a good way?" Bernd asked in disbelief. "Seriously, sweet, maybe we should just fucking confess this shit right on the spot-" 

"Are you insane?" Marc-Andre demanded. "We made the decision to hide it and we're going to stick with it. If we give up the game now then we might as well just shoot ourselves to be finished with it, because they're going to realise all our weird behaviour has just been shitty attempts to cover it all up and we'll be mocked to death because of it." 

"Getting mocked to death is the only outcome to all possible things we could do, Marc, it's happening to us now!" Bernd said exasperatedly. "Leroy won't be able to keep his mouth shut for much longer, those cunts Mesut and Sami are going to let it slip on purpose, too. We might as well just put ourselves out of our misery."

"I don't want to, Bernd," Marc-Andre said in a small voice. "I know the team will abuse us no matter what happens, but I feel like it'll... it'll change things."

"What will it change?" Bernd asked. "It'll mean we won't have to hide that we love each other anymore. Is that a bad thing?"

"No!" Marc-Andre said, but his moment of hesitation was all that Bernd needed to understand. 

"Hey," Bernd said softly, moving closer to him. "I know what you're thinking, Marc, baby. Everyone's so used to us competing, even we're so used to it, and we're in such a routine right now that it's hard to confront that all of that is really gone, and that this is a new us. It's hard for me too, wrapping my mind around it. Sometimes I see you smiling at me and I think, _what the fuck is he grinning about?_ " 

Marc-Andre looked down, even as Bernd gently took hold of his shoulders. 

"The whole point of all of this was that we could finally not fucking dance around the bush. We're twenty six, not sixteen in the under-17 tournament. We've had our career problems, just like Reus and Götze, but we worked through it. I know I started off saying we should hide it all, but now I'm thinking that was just another ploy by me to hide from my own feelings again, taking the easy option out, not having to admit it publically," Bernd continued. "I'm not saying we should do it  _today._  Definitely not.Maybe at the end of the week, or during the club season on the group chat so we can hide from the reactions in different countries."

Marc-Andre laughed despite himself knowing that he would actually leap onto that suggestion with open arms. It'd be so easy to hide away in Barcelona if shit hit the fan and everyone lost their minds over such a revelation. It's not like they'd be able to jump on a plane and come to Barcelona to confront him-

No, wait. They could. They really could. 

"I love you," Bernd murmured, cutting through this tangent in his mind. He smiled so sweetly that Marc-Andre's knees almost gave way. "I really, really love you. I'd rather be locked in a room with a Reus who knows about us and Khedira than not be able to love you properly. You know that, right?"

"I know. I love you too," Marc-Andre said firmly. "I definitely can't do it today, or tomorrow, or in the Netherlands, or in France, or during this week, really, and maybe not in the next club season, but maybe during the next international break I'd be able to admit it to the others."

"How about we schedule it... to some point in the near future?" Bernd suggested. 

"Get rid of the near and we've got a deal," Marc-Andre offered. "At some point in the future." 

"I think the 'near' part is something that would be beneficial, my love," Bernd pressed, with a little smile quirking at his lips. 

"Okay, I'll conc-" he cut himself off very quickly before he could say the word, but Bernd had already heard it. "Oh, fuck off. Don't you even start."

"You'll do what, exactly?" Bernd offered, placing his hand to his ear. "You'll con- _what?_ "

"I'll  _condense_ you," Marc-Andre said. And then he winced. 

"What does that even mean?" Bernd asked. "You know what, actually, I don't know why I even asked. Like you even know." 

"Shut  _up,_ " Marc-Andre insisted. "It means you're a fucking liquid keeper, and the only thing I can do to you is... condense you." 

"How about," Bernd suggested, cutting through his babbling and smiling affectionately. "You  _kiss_ me instead?"

Marc-Andre mumbled something incoherent. "If you're really that desperate."

He leaned forwards, and the two of them kissed. For several moments there was complete silence, and neither of them thought of anything at all. Finally, they pulled apart, both of their faces in each other's hands, and smiled at each other. 

And then Bernd's eyes widened, and his whole body went tense.

Just seeing his reaction made Marc-Andre not want to turn around, to leave Bernd's hold. But he knew he had to. Marc-Andre turned his head slightly, almost feeling dread. 

It looked like the near-future had very quickly become the present.

Because, standing right in front of them _,_ was one Marco Reus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> recent anxiety+little proofreading+my natural state of self-consciousness=this
> 
> so... what'd you think? i always worry going into serious subjects because this is a fucking fanfiction and it's like where d'you draw the line between humour and real life?? robert enke was someone i pretty much adored as a kid, and i watched his hannover game thinking, "i love him" two days before it happened. the fallout in the media after it happened was devastating and it had a huge impact on the bundesliga, our football culture and our national team for years. i cried so much and i still cry every anniversary of his death. i loved the man and i organise a charity match around his anniversary for local mental health charities with my club, mental health is incredibly important to me and sports psychology was another option i looked to explore should fofotball have not worked out and i am thinking of really going into it after i'm finished my career.
> 
> obviously it can't all be doom and gloom- the cliffhanger should keep you drama goblins screeching for days :P i hope you enjoyed this chapter, i love you all <3
> 
> lüdenscheid nord= mean nickname for dortmund used by schalke fans  
> herne-west= mean nickname for schalke used by dortmund fans
> 
> also it's arjen's birthday, hbd legend ! <3
> 
> once again idk how this chapter is. im not even gonna say what I think of it because yall know.
> 
> adding this on now- i wrote about one tragedy in this and another one occurred with the horrible story of emiliano sala. really such a terribly sad story and it made me cry, all i can say is i may have miniscule hope he might still be alive but if he isn't... :((( then i wish him peace and love in the afterlife, god i hope there's a benevolent afterlife :((( i watched some of his L1 games and he really was special, a fantastic goalscorer on the brink of something new and special :(


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 9!

Marc-Andre made a noise that wasn't quite human, and leapt back from Bernd so fast that his shoulder collided hard into the wall.

Bernd's heart was thumping so violently he couldn't hear his own thoughts. 

Marco's expression was unreadable. 

"Oh, Gott." Marc-Andre began the torture, waving his hands uncontrollably, backing away from Marco as if he was a lunatic with an axe. "Oh, Gott, mein Gott, ne, ne- Marco, this- this- this isn't what it looks like!"

 _Really? Really, Marc? This isn't what it looks like? So how else is he meant to interpret us two kissing right in front of him?_ Bernd wanted to scream at him. But the real panic in Marc-Andre's eyes prevented him from doing so. He really had no idea what to say to Marco, who, surprisingly, hadn't started crowing yet.

In fact, the Dortmund forward actually raised his hands in an almost placating fashion.

"Look," he said quickly and quietly, as Marc-Andre looked like he was going to hyperventilate. "I'm not going to jump down your throats, don't worry. Just breathe, ter Stegen, yeah?"

Marc-Andre's eyes widened more than should have been humanly possible and if anything, he got himself into even more of a flap. Bernd looked as though Marco had just stripped off and declared he wanted to join them in a threesome.

"I know you're panicking," Marco continued. "But don't. I'm not going to- I'm not going to ask questions, alright? I'm not going to say anything either. It's up to you what you want to say to me. I'm not going to force you to explain anything."

Marc-Andre looked at Bernd for an explanation as to why Marco Reus had changed every fundamental aspect of his character. Bernd would have preferred an explanation as to how they had entered an alternate dimension from the physio block. 

"What are you planning?" was all Bernd could say, because this reaction was so wildly out of the norm that there had to be some sort of catch. "Why- why aren't you fucking screaming, right now? And taking photos, and running to tell the squad, and planning to humiliate us?"

Marco sighed at this response. He ran a hand through his hair and then sighed again, just looking tired. His other hand was resting awkwardly on his knee.

Bernd and Marc-Andre watched each motion with bated breath, knowing that an attack was coming any second, now, Marco was building it all up and soon he was going to unleash everything and eviscerate the two of them on the spot. There would be no survivors. Bernd and Marc-Andre's obituaries would probably be two pages of memes with low-res, ugly pictures of both of them helpfully supplied by fucking Kai and Leroy. Really, it had been remarkable that they had lasted this long at all. One and a half days- they could look back on this and be proud, at least, that they had lasted even a single fucking minute!

Marc-Andre's eyelid was twitching. His face had gone very red like it normally did when he was embarrassed- before, such a sight would've given Bernd great joy, but now it just made him feel even more antsy. Marc-Andre's stress tended to be infectious, and given how high tension the situation already was... 

"Jesus Christ, will you say something!" Marc-Andre finally burst out, his voice several octaves high and almost trembling.

Bernd went to pat his shoulder reassuringly, but the presence of Marco instinctively made him try to hold himself back, as if he was still hiding. He  _wasn't._ The game was up. He moved his hand again and placed it on his  _boyfriend's body._

Marco's hands raised again, but almost instantly went back to his knee. 

"Yeah, fine, okay," he said, looking distracted. "I know this is awkward for you two. I know you're expecting me to expose you. But I'm not gonna do that shit, okay? I expected something like this had happened, and it would be shitty to make things more complicated for you than they probably already are."

"What'd do you mean, you  _expected-_ " Marc-Andre began, looking horrified.

"Because you're both so obvious! Is that really a surprise to you?" Marco said, flexing his leg and rolling his eyes at the same time. His face was caught between a wince of pain and exasperation, so he looked very strange. "Mario and Manu suspected something was wrong straight away, but I doubt they'd ever have thought you two were together, that after a decade you would have  _actually_ suddenly upped and gotten together. But I know that a lot can happen in a short space of time. You guys went missing on the group chat for a long time. Leroy was being suspicious. I had a vague idea that something like this might be happening, but I knew that if Mario jumped on your case properly there'd be no hope for you, especially if you were working through a complicated time. So... I tried to deflect. And make things seem normal.

"And then you just went and fucking confirmed it all with your tomfoolery and attempts at _acting_. Ter Stegen's inability to roast you when he's normally like Mats, still trying to be superior even when he's completely outdone, showed that he wasn't resorting to his defense mechanisms anymore. And that whole roommates thing, Christ on a bicycle, you weren't even trying with that, ter Stegen." 

Bernd looked furiously at Marc-Andre, who turned an even deeper scarlet.

"And of course there was Mesami, who, in their regular silent, unsuspecting fashion, basically told me that they knew everything that was going on with you two. Sami made a joke about going to Barcelona. Bernd has been fighting with him about it. Then Mario was saying that he was going to try and dig in deep to expose you both and Mesut had a freak-out, whilst Sami didn't seem to care. Why else would he have acted like that, if he wasn't scared of your secret getting out? Leroy is useless and obvious. Then this morning I saw you two having an actual exchange that didn't involve snarling, and I thought,  _they've gone and done it._ Natürlich, seeing you two kiss right in front of me might have made that conclusion a little less murky also."

This was all very reasonable, but what  _wasn't_ reasonable was the fact that Marco had noticed _all_ of this, and hadn't said a word about it.

"I don't understand," Bernd said weakly. He was having a hard time wrapping his head around anything- he was still feeling the shock of having been caught. "You knew all of this, but you didn't say anything. You've been mocking us to death since the day you met us both, but now you know that we're actually... together, you just don't care?"

"Yeah," Marc-Andre said more strongly. "It's in your best interest to make our lives miserable, is it not? I mean, I can bring up a long list of all the times you've done it just for fun. Why is this time so different?"

Marco sighed, rubbing his eyes.

"Look," he said flatly, after another long pause. "I? I am many things. I'm intelligent. I'm beautiful. I'm talented. I'm fashionable. I'm better than Hummels at everything. But what I'm _not_  is a complete dickhead _._  I try not to be one, anyway.If you guys really went through with this relationship thing, after everything that's gone on between you, then it must have been a hell of a difficult decision to make. You've probably been wrapped up in worry and doubts all this time, and it would've taken a lot of bravery to fight through it. The amount of back-and-forth thinking, how impossible the situation feels... To put aside the uncertainty, to recognise that you love someone and want to be with them no matter how it might impact your career- it takes balls. It wouldn't be funny for me to expose you and load more pressure onto your shoulders, it would be cruel."

There was a moment of silence, but Marco didn't notice the expressions on both of their faces, he was practically holding his leg up now, looking away from them. The pain was mounting and he wasn't quite thinking about what he was saying.

Meanwhile, Marc-Andre's eyes were watering. Somehow, although Marco's tone was...  _curt,_ there was a kindness to his words that neither of them had been expecting. And the fact that he knew how they had been feeling, that he didn't want to make things worse for them... 

"Oh, fucking hell, there's nothing to  _cry_ about, you idiot!" Marco said impatiently, when he looked up and saw that Marc-Andre was about to burst into tears. "Anyone would do it, okay?"

"No, they wouldn't," Bernd said. "Our own friends wanted to expose us straight away. They've been  _trying_ to do it. But you actually understood this shit."

Marco looked annoyed and uncomfortable. "Yeah, well. I know that this shit is complicated, they don't. Relationships can be hard in football. I don't want to make it harder for someone else." 

"Too right," Marc-Andre said tearfully. He turned to Bernd and grabbed his hand, squeezing it, almost giddy with excitement and relief. "Oh, Marco, danke. Es ist unglaublich. Wir haben es nie erwartet."

"Es war nichts," Marco said awkwardly. "I'm... I'm happy for you guys. I know we've all been giving you a hard time because of how stupid we thought you've been acting. But I guess you fooled us all along, huh? You were smarter than we expected, being able to hide your feelings from us all like that for these years. The petty bickering and the obviousness of it all... it was a pretty good disguise. You acting predictably idiotic meant we'd never be able to foresee you overcoming these barriers for real."

Marc-Andre squeezed Bernd's hand. "We're sort of a reverse Mesami, huh? And we knew and understood the consequences, but decided to just ignore them."

"Mesami don't even know the consequences exist, the blind idiots," Bernd said a little irritably. "Yet they like to play fast and loose with the rules anyway..." 

 _I don't know if that's true. I think the only thing stopping them is their knowledge that the consequences are there,_ Marco thought.

"You were brave," he said instead. "Football can be hard, sometimes. There can be resentment, and there can be challenges that are inavoidable. It can be hard to cling onto the things that matter, so sometimes you just want to throw it away so you don't have that weight anymore. But you two decided not to do that. And that's pretty damn impressive, considering your situation. You avoided something even the best of us can't avoid- running away. I really wish you two happiness."

"Jesus Christ!" Marc-Andre burst into tears. Bernd smiled fondly and pulled him close, both arms around him. 

Marco's expression was most unimpressed. "Oh, mein Gott, I've had it with you, ter Stegen, you pussy bitch. Stop crying, will you, I'm being nice to you!"

"That's why he's crying," Bernd said with a laugh, kissing Marc-Andre's forehead and giving him a squeeze. "All this time we've been worried that we'd be questioned and laughed at and doubted, but here you are, arguably the meanest person in the squad, and you've been so nice to us. You took a weight off our shoulders yourself." 

Marco looked disgruntled.

"Yeah, well, whatever," he muttered. " _I_ might have decided to be nice to you out of the graciousness of my own heart, but I can't promise that the others will be as generous and kind as I am. Was werden sie tun? How are you going to play this from now?" 

"We don't know yet," Marc-Andre admitted. "Crying in the physio block after having just been caught by one of our teammates who ended up being the loveliest ever isn't exactly the right time to form a battle plan. But we're going to think about when we're going to admit this, and about how we can take our relationship to the next step. Being brave, as you say."

Bernd wondered if Marco was going to begrudge them of this, but the man just smiled a little. 

"Well, okay. Take your time. It isn't easy to do shit like this, as I say," he said. "I'll try and help you out. Just... try and be a bit less fucking obvious. Leno is okay, but ter Stegen... Your acting skills are fucking atrocious. The best thing you can do, I guess, is not be so self-conscious and anxious and enjoy yourself. Roast each other, try and outdo each other, that's what you always do. Don't let this be a barrier for you to enjoy your jobs and compete. It'd be toxic to try and hold back out of concern for each other's feelings, the sooner you acknowledge you'll _have_ to fight for your place all throughout your relationship, the easier it'll be for you not to quietly dwell and worry about it-"

Bernd decided to look pointedly anywhere else as Marco continued.

"- and the team will laugh at you in any way, embrace it. Be just as wildly obnoxiously confident about your ineptitudes as you always have been. Don't try too hard, they'll notice that more. And crack out some Mesami roasts, there are loads you can use. Most of all, just have fun!Your relationship shouldn't be a burden for you. Be glad you hold something over everyone's heads, something they'd be dying to know about.  _I,_ personally, am going to enjoy the fact I know more than Hummels. Though that's no surprise." 

He smiled a smile with no self-assurance and no maliciousness. It was a genuinely sunny grin. The pain of his knee seemed to have vanished for a split-second.

"What the fuck." Marc-Andre was laughing through his (happy) tears. "Who are you, man? This is unbelievable. Thank you so much."

"Yeah, Jesus. Thank you, Marco, man. You're actually such a nice guy," Bernd said wonderingly. "Guess I was wrong about you all along."

Marco's face contorted. It was like he was physically pained by this compliment. "Ja... vielleicht. But stop being such pussy fucking bitches, with your tears and your gratitude. I don't need it. And don't go thinking I won't be roasting you behind the scenes. You're both still clowns who deserve it."

"I expected no less," Marc-Andre laughed. He genuinely felt light, as though he was floating about. And Bernd had never looked so cute to him. "Thank you for your help. It's more than we deserve, really." 

"Don't be fucking stupid, ter Stegen," Marco said impatiently. "Your team doesn't deserve the number of clean sheets they have. But you  _do_ deserve this. Everyone deserves to have uncomplicated love."

He rubbed his nose, and then added, because clearly he had said too much by this point, "Apart from Schalkers." 

Marc-Andre and Bernd laughed. And then they jumped out of their skin, as an older man with long grey hair appeared around the corner, peering and looking bewildered. 

"Ah, there you are!" Dr Müller-Wohlfahrt said. "I was wondering where you had got to, ter Stegen and Leno, you're late for your appointments!. And you too, Reus, hm?" 

Marco vaguely brushed his knee in communication of the problem. The team doctor nodded in understanding.

"Well, we should get inside, no?" the doctor said. "I imagine Jogi will be impatient if you two are gone for too long. Ter Stegen, are you crying?"

"No, sir!" Marc-Andre said hastily. "I'm just... perspiring from the eyes at the thought of working hard on my fitness!"

Bernd winced and Marco's eyes rolled all the way up into his head. Marc-Andre couldn't even find the energy to be embarrassed, he was feeling so happy.

He only hoped that Marco wouldn't see his stupidity as a reason to turn against them.

*** 

Mario Gomez was  _completely_ wiped out by the time training was over. He didn't quite know where his fitness had fucked off to recently, but he wanted it to return soon- his bones felt like they were liable to snap at the slightest movement. Miro seemed to be sharing the sentiment- he flopped on the bed when they reached their room and lay flat on his face for quite a while. 

"I feel that, Opa," Mario said with utmost empathy, as the only noise Miro could make was a strangled sort of groan. "I'm going to take the shower first, I need to wash away my accumulated despair and exhaustion."

Miro mumbled something incoherent in return, probably in agreement.  It was clear he didn't care less about who got the shower first. He probably didn't have the energy to get in it in the first place.

"Damn, me too!" Mario laughed. He grabbed his towel and entered the bathroom, as Miro kept complaining. God, he needed to feel some warm water and get rid of the feeling that he had been rolling on grass for the past few hours (he had been- Thomas had rugby tackled him out of nowhere, as Miro had assisted  _Mario_ for a goal and not him). He stripped off and turned the shower on, instantly feeling the knot of tension relax between his shoulders.

He took nonsensically long showers, so much so that Miro often ended up banging on the door insisting that he hurried up. But Miro was so exhausted now that he doubted there would be any complaints this time, so he took his time, enjoying the relaxing warmth of the water cascading down his shoulders.

When he was finally finished, and Miro  _still_ hadn't come knocking yet, Mario stepped out of the shower. Taking care not to fucking slip on the marble tiles and break all his bones, he towelled himself off and dressed, entering the room again. Miro was lying on his bed, his  _phone_ in his hand, of all things, speaking to somebody. Mario had his towel draped over his hair like a hood and pretended to be a ghost, just as Miro turned the camera towards him. 

"Mario's here. Hey, Mario, say hello to Sylwia, Luan and Noah," Miro said cheerily. 

Mario tripped over his own feet and landed on his face, the towel falling on the carpet in front of him. 

"Hallo, Herr Gomez," Sylwia's voice came from Miro's phone. There was also a lot of yelling to accompany her.

Mario jerked his head up. There was Miro's ex-wife on the screen, with two little boys clinging onto her.

"Oh, man!" he said in a strangled voice, getting to his feet at once. Miro looked completely unperturbed, though Sylwia looked like she was trying to suppress a giggle. "Just Mario, you know me, Sylwia! Hi! And Luan and Noah, too! Wow! Hey, guys!"

"HI, UNCLE MARIO-!" both of the boys started yelling at once, making Miro wince and hold the phone away from him to try and not get deafened by the noise. 

"Boys, boys, calm down!" Miro said, giving Mario a look that said,  _what are they like?_ "You'll be able to see Uncle Mario in  _person_ soon, you don't want to waste all your energy greeting him now when you can do it properly later, right?"

Mario looked at Miro, wondering if the man really wanted him dead. Miro winked at him and Sylwia laughed. 

"They're very excited about seeing the whole  _team_ again," she said. "Nobody will be safe from these little ones' energy. They haven't built up the immunity to it like Miro and I have." 

"What's immunity mean, Mutti?" Luan asked. 

"It means you're ugly, Luan, and they don't know how to avoid it!" Noah said in return. 

" _Boys!_ "

Miro looked somewhat relieved that he wasn't there with her. Mario laughed awkwardly as Sylwia had to wrench the wrestling boys apart and banish them off of her lap and onto either side of the sofa. Inside, he was fucking dying. 

"Yes, I'm sure a match environment full of excitement, cheering, their Vati playing and all their idols aggressively playful antics' will be  _extraordinarily_ relaxing for them, and me! It'll be great, they'll be as quiet as mouses. Or is it mice? I don't know. But what I do know is that it's bound to be a wonderful day!" Sylwia said, wearing the strained smile of a woman who had seen... a  _lot._ Mario bared his teeth in a grin back. 

"Kids will be kids, right?" Mario said brightly. 

"Not a  _kid!_ " Luan and Noah yelled at the same time. 

"Don't worry, Sylwia, you'll have a good time," Miro assured her. "The boys will behave themselves, I'll give them all a stern talking-to at dinner tonight. You'll be able to watch us score and win against the Netherlands. Don't fret."

"I do like it when the Netherlands get scored against," Sylwia agreed. "You had better score, Miro, or they'll be complaining about it til the beyond the end of time.

The boys nodded in solemn agreement. Miro was the one to give a strained smile now. 

"We'll see!" he said in a high-pitched voice. "Well, Sylwia, Luan, Noah, it was good to talk to you, but I should take a shower now before we head down to dinner. Make sure you listen to your Mutti, boys, okay? I'll see you both soon, for the match!"

"OKAY!" the yells of agreement almost blew Mario off of his feet. "BYE, VATI! BYE, UNCLE MARIO!"

"Bye!" Mario's voice cracked and went about three octaves higher. Sylwia winked at them both before waving and hanging up. 

Miro sighed, then smiled fondly, before turning off his phone and shrugging at Mario.

"They'll be over the moon to see everyone again, and to see a Germany game again," he said softly. "They'll be over the moon to see you, too. They idolise you more than me, I feel. It'll be a fun game, versus the Netherlands, won't it?" 

" _Natürlich!_ " Mario boomed. "I'll love it! Sylwia! Luan! Noah! It'll be great!"

"If we win," Miro said, quirking his lips up at the corner. "Sylwia was right, there'll be hell to pay if we don't put up a good result- not from Jogi, but from those little boys. I'd have to score in every game in the season to win their forgiveness if we lose." 

"We won't fucking lose, it's the Netherlands," Mario assured him with a smile. "You'll live up to your kids' weighty standards, believe me. You've proven every critic in Deutschland wrong, I'm pretty sure you can handle  _this_ bit of pressure."

"Can  _you_ handle it?" Miro said with a quirk of his own lips. "You're quite the role model to them too." 

Mario threw his head back to the heavens and laughed, a little more than he had expected to.

"Miro," he said softly, once he had finished and Miro looked bemused. "If only you knew how much I've been dealing with it already." 

Miro frowned.

***

"And then, Rob, I slide-tackled Toni's bitch-ass before he even knew what had happened. The counter I triggered from that one move was enough to score  _right_ in the top corner. Thomas, you know, he's good at goalscoring, who would have thought? Bernd said it was because he had been at the physio so he had been caught off guard, but we all know he's an amateur facing off attacks of  _my_ calibre-"

Robert was smiling on Jerome's phone screen as his boyfriend happily chattered away about the events of training, whilst Toni next to him looked disgruntled over his pasta. Jonas was quietly trying to suppress his laughter as Jerome distorted literally...  _all_ the facts about what had really happened. 

"I would say I'm proud of you, baby, but you know I always am. But I do have to say, I'd be even  _more_ proud if you did that to a player of actual quality, Jeri, not some Real Madrid wannabe attacking mid." 

Jonas nearly spat out his drink. Toni gave him a very unimpressed look. 

" _That?_ That wasn't even clever. You have no sense of humour," Toni informed him, and then he held up a hand as Jonas's mouth opened. "But no apologies, you table leg. I can take you laughing at me, I've handled worse." 

Jonas blushed and took another hasty sip of water, but when the glass came away from his lips, he was smiling. 

"I could do that to a player of any calibre, baby, I promise you," Jerome assured his boyfriend. "I'll be doing it to  _every one_ of those fucking rotten oranges soon enough. Virgil van Dijk whom, precisely? I am the best centre-back in the world and nobody can take that title." 

"Yes, Jerome!" Leroy called over from where he was sitting by a very cheerful Marc-Andre, happy to hear a Liverpool player getting insulted. "Show your worth, my confident queen! Let nobody doubt you!"

Jerome blew Leroy a kiss and Toni rolled his eyes.

"The Netherlands have a decent squad, you know, we shouldn't get  _too_ cocky-" he began. 

"Like you can fucking talk about getting cocky," Robert said at once. Toni gave him a look, but knew the obvious Poland joke that was hanging from the tip of his tongue would be too below the belt. "How many international tournaments have they qualified for recently? That's right, none.  _We_ qualified for the Euros over them. If that isn't proof of them being shit I don't know what is. My Jeri will fucking incinerate them, no question."

"Don't put yourself down, Robert, you were the qualifiers' top scorer," Jonas offered timidly. He was still very shy about talking to Robert. Jerome smiled warmly at him.

Robert rolled his eyes, though he looked somewhat gratified at the same time. "Yeah, and look at us during the actual tournament. Those _historic_ quarter finals. Losing 1-0 versus fucking Portugal." 

"Who went on to beat France and win the whole thing. Shut the fuck up, Rob," Jerome informed him. "No self-deprecation allowed, okay? You need to channel the malevolent energy you had against Wolfsburg to incinerate Italy for us."

"Yeah, we're counting on you there, Robert," Basti called out from the other side of the table. "Zaza's on that squad, make sure to foul him if he's in the box, eh? Get him a pen, just for the laughs."

"Make sure you _don't_ get a penalty in _our_ match, Schweinsteiger," Marco said in a low voice, so only Mario, who had initially been consumed by worry at the sight of him, could hear him (though everyone heard him anyway). Fortunately Marco seemed to be fine now and Mario had relaxed again and giggled heartily at this little jibe.

Basti picked up a whole jug of water and stood up, his expression totally calm. Jogi's eyes, however, had travelled to him, and so, with great restraint, he was forced to lower it again, Lukas holding the crook of his elbow and pulling him back into his seat.

"Arjen Robben will be playing this match, Marco, you'd better watch  _your_ step around him," Fips said serenely, coming to the defence of his friend.

Marco took a deep, measured breath.

Kai was watching the scene in fascination. "So this is just...  _it,_ all the time? This is how it be? These teammates rip each other apart at every possible convenience, even when they should be united against the common enemy?"

"This is how it always be," Bernd confirmed. He had been in a very upbeat mood all throughout dinner so far and was being very energetic and absorbed in his conversation with Kai, which the boy was happy about. "You'll never be able to change it. But they'll-  _we'll_ come together and help each other out when it matters."

He was wearing a fond smile. Kai smiled back, Bernd was in such a good mood and it was making him happy too.

"Man, I can't wait for the fixture. I hate the Netherlands so much! It's going to be fun when we win against them," Kai said enthusiastically. "D'you think I'll get any gametime at some point? Jogi has been saying loads of nice things about me in training, so I hope it means I'll get to be on the pitch!"

"He says nice things to me too," Julian said darkly. The concept of getting real gametime to _him_ was still... a little alien. 

But Bernd just laughed and ruffled Kai's hair. "Du bist Gold, Kai. You'll get your time, I know it." 

Kai shone. 

Mesut, nearby, looked a little sullen.

"If the kid starts over me, I'll eat Reus," Mesut muttered over his soup. "I need some gametime. I've been living on that bench, recently. Being a benchwarmer will be my new fucking career."

"Hey, don't worry, Mes," Sami said kindly. "You'll be seeing greater heights than Arsenal's bench soon, I promise.  Jogi'd be crazy to start the kid over you- not that he's bad or anything, just that you're more experienced. You deserve a start." 

Mesut nearly choked on his soup. "Wow, Sam, that was nice of you. Thanks, man!" 

"It's been known to happen," Sami said confidentially. "I pull your pisser a lot, but you know how highly I rate you, you idiot. Highest of the high. A ray of light in that shithole club of yours."

He reached over to get Mesut's favourite bread from the basket and tossed it onto his plate before getting some for himself. Mesut couldn't help but smile widely. 

"Thanks, Sam. Sometimes you need to hear that shit, even if it's from the likes of you," he said softly, tearing a chunk off with his teeth. 

"You should  _know_ that shit, Mes," Sami said with a smile. "I love you, bro, and I think you're one of the best players I could watch. You should keep that in mind. Even when you nutmeg yourself in training trying to show off with a flick." 

" _That never happened,_ " Mesut sang. But he nudged Sami and placed his head on the taller man's shoulder. "Thanks, bro. You're pretty good yourself." 

"Juve don't just take anyone," Sami said gently. Mesut hit him but didn't remove his head. 

Oh, how Marc-Andre wanted to mock them, from where he was watching them by Leroy, Miro and Mario Gomez. His interaction with Marco had suddenly filled him with unearned confidence, and a jibe at their expense would have been the perfect thing to get the ball rolling. But he was feeling benevolent.  And they were leaving him alone at the moment, so he didn't want to attract unneccessary attention.

"This is lovely," Miro said, regarding everyone, from where Basti was still chuntering to Fips and Lukas about Marco's audacity, Jerome and Toni were wrestling about a comment Toni had made with Robert cheering them on and Jonas covering his face with his hands, and Julian Draxler was begging for an explanation about how one of his comments had been slutty to a cackling Leon. "My children will be in the presence of all these model professionals, soon, I'm sure nothing will go catastrophically wrong."

Marc-Andre giggled. Everything just seemed inordinately funny to him now. "Who would you say you're most worried about, Miro?" 

"Oh, excellent question, Marc-Andre. There's a variety of different groups that can ruin my sons' moral values," Miro said, rubbing his hands together. Mario and Leroy fell about laughing. "There's that man over there-"

Thomas had just hit Leon with a surprise headlock for absolutely no reason and was now wrestling him to the ground. Julian continued his conversation as if nothing had happened.

"Always good to have Thomas teach  my kids lessons about needless violence. Then there's this wise sage-" 

Jerome was now loudly declaring to the whole world every one of Real Madrid's failures while Robert Lewandowski's voice cheered him on. 

"He _can_ teach them a lot about disrespect and verbal abuse, granted. He's a natural at it. And of course, we have the classic pairing. The holy duo. The ones that came before."

Mats had just catapulted a spoonful of peas at Marco's head. Marco felt the impact and stood up at once, smiling calmly as he picked up a whole fish from Mario's plate and flung it-

And it hit Benni. 

"And Benni," Miro added, as Benni instantly jumped to his feet and picked up his chair to beat Marco with it, and the Lüdenscheid-Nord/Herne-West screaming began. "It'd be wonderful if my sons saw their antics and decided to replicate them at home, wouldn't it?"

"A parent's dream," Marc-Andre said, laughing so hard he could have cried. Bernd caught his eyes and quirked an eyebrow, unable to stop himself from smiling at how happy Marc-Andre looked. "It's a lost cause for you, Miro." 

"Nevertheless, I must try, and try, to retain order in my household, no matter how many times I... fail miserably." Miro sighed as Jogi condemned all three of Mats, Marco and Benni to five extra laps during tomorrow's training. "I need to make an announcement. How can I get everyone's attention?"

"I have an idea!" Leroy said brightly. He stood up on his chair, spreading his arms wide. "Everyone, I am the best winger and attacking midfielder in the world!"

Nobody would've paid him the slightest heed, normally, but the content of his words had caught everyone's attention and there was an instant uproar. 

"Take it away, Miro!" Leroy said, sitting back down as the torrent of abuse flowed. Miro shrugged. That was... one way to do it.

"Everyone," Miro said in a placating tone, to try and soothe the outrage. "Leroy was simply saying that as a way to get your attention. He is not delusional, don't worry."

"Good, because I was worried for a second," Toni said.

"You should still be worried," Julian Brandt said. 

"I'll be worried when you get a second on the pitch..." 

"Now, now, let's not derail things before I've even started talking," Miro said. Or rather begged. "This is exactly what I wanted to talk to you all about, actually. Your standard of behaviour, and how it needs to be in the next few days." 

Jogi snorted to himself. Miroslav really thought that he could tell this group  _anything_ about  _behavioural_ standards?

"My two, impressionable, six year old twin sons will be coming to watch our game versus the Netherlands," Miro announced. Thomas cheered and Marco smiled. "Please don't cheer, Thomas, that scares me. What are you going to say to them? Wait, no, don't tell me. Let me finish what I have to say." 

Jogi snorted again. Like he'd be able to finish his speech uninterrupted...

No, wait. He probably would be able to. Miro was more respected than  _he_ was. 

"As I was saying, my young twin sons are coming to watch us play. You will be in their presence. They idolise you. And tend to repeat everything they hear you say forever," Miro said slowly and ominously. Mario was halfway under the table. "So that means, I need to lay down some ground rules." 

Toni was biting his thumbnail. Some ground rules... maybe he would need to lay some himself...

"Please, for the love of all that's holy.  _Mind your language_." Miro waited for the response to this request, and indeed, there was a chorus of groans.

"Our language is fucking fine," Thomas complained. 

"It is atrocious, as is the rest of this group's behaviour. Usually I couldn't care less how you all decide to act, that's up to you, and has been since you joined the team, unfortunately. But I will not have my sons coming up to me and asking me what a  _Fotze_ is. Yes, I'm looking at you, Reus," Miro said, ignoring the complaints. 

"They won't be asking it anymore, they know what it means now," Marco said slyly. "I can teach them what-"

"No. That is all I will say to that.  _No,_ " Miro said firmly. "No swearing. And now here's my next rule.  _No needless violence._ "

Leon leaned over to slap Julian Brandt, just because he could. Julian picked up a fork and went to stab him. 

" _No,_ " Miro said again. "Manuel, please." 

Manu turned a glower on Leon. "Sit down, Goretzka and Brandt."

Leon and Julian sat down at once.

"Thank you," Miro said. "Now, on to my third rule. Please do not teach my children about illicit activities such as gambling. They are six years old. I do not want Noah coming up to me to tell me Luan hit him for not giving him the euro he owed because Stuttgart lost, or something like that-"

"Noah wouldn't bet that Stuttgart would win, who would do something like that?" Kai piped up.

Everyone laughed.

Everyone barring Mario.

"Sorry, Mario," Miro said, smiling a little and covering his mouth with his hand. He had clearly put that into his speech on purpose. "Now, onto rule number four. The golden one. The one you will all ignore but I will try and tell you in the vain hopes it will get through to you anyway. Reus and Hummels- and Benni- listen up."

Mats and Marco put on an air of being mockingly attentive. Benni just folded his arms and scowled. 

"Please.  _Please._ For the love of God. And my sanity.  _Please_ don't fight in front of them." Miro's hands were clasped together as though he was praying. "This is a culmination of all my past rules. Please do not fucking try to kill each other in front of my children. Please do not make comebacks about anyone's mothers or the relative size of genitals in front of my children. Please do not violently gamble over results in front of my children.  _Please. Just be good role models-_ "

"I'd like to interject," Toni said, standing up with a hand on his heart, because all of Miro's rules were making him worried about what effect the team would have on his  _Leon._

"Toni, please, I need support-"

"I'm on your side, Miro," Toni assured him. "I'd just like to add something- these rules? That Miro is putting out about his sons? They apply to mine, too. Leon is coming to watch our game versus France. Literally everything Miro said is the same for Leon. Leon is two years old, okay? If any of you is a bad influence at all, I will take hold of your cocks and rip them off of your bodies slowly."

"I'll back Toni on that one," Jerome called. "Nobody can poison little Leon."

Jonas looked like he was about to say something too, but he couldn't quite gain the courage to speak in front of everyone at the table. But he lent Toni his silent support. 

Miro looked relieved. "That's one way to get the message across. The rules apply to  _all_ sons. Please. Thank you for your time."

He sat down again as everyone thought about these rules and decided whether they were going to follow them. They were sure Toni would carry out his threat, no question about it, but would Miro be a good law enforcer?

 _Maybe I should pay Manuel to yell at them if they act out of order?_ Miro thought to himself. He glanced over at Manu, who looked half out of the conversation, Thomas leaning on his shoulder.  _Or should I leave the poor man alone and deal with them myself?_

Jogi, meanwhile, was deep in thought.

"These rules about respect..." the man said pensively. "I wonder. Would they listen to them if  _I_ told them to-"

"Don't be fucking ridiculous, Jogi," Basti said wisely. "Unless you suddenly transform into Manuel Neuer, they won't listen to a single word you say. And even then Thomas would still run around rampant. Call it a day, coach." 

"Yes..." Jogi sighed. "I expected that would be the case."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? not as dramatic as you might have been expecting, hopefully i built it up well enough that marco knew all along. i thought a bit of happiness was due, i really enjoyed writing nice marco, he is a real sweetheart :) and steno really do need a break!
> 
> after the recnet events i have had i needed to write a happy chapter, with not much angst!
> 
> small levels of proofreading i am not in a good mental state right now lol
> 
> thank you for reading, i'm sorry i forgot about responding to comments it went out of my head, it's been a crazy time recently, forgive me please!! i read them will reply soon and thank you i love you all so much <3


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 10!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus leute, wie geht's, wie geht's. we are on chapter 55, and yall know what that means-  
> D E D I C A T I O N!  
> this one goes to christina, aka kristified! thank you SO much for all your long, insightful comments about this fic, really some of the stuff you've written has made my eyes go wide you are so thoughtful and perceptive and you pick up even the silliest little things and it makes me so happy! danke!
> 
> as per usual this chapter is so late because my life is a fucking circus, but we knew this. thank you for your patience, your support and your comments my loves! i hope this chapter is enjoyable!
> 
> it's time to move on the plot finally towards the netherlands, jeez by this time in the first international break there had been about two matches and there's not been one yet :P the way this fic has slowed down (?) is amazing theres so much more to write about now, i love it. 
> 
> auf geht's!

Today was likely going to be the day where Fips' heart gave in and Jogi decided to retire once and for all. They were going to be flying to the Netherlands soon.

A flight with the team was often a great source of stress, but Jerome was feeling none of it at the moment- partly because he was one of the people who  _caused_ said stress, so he wasn't affected by it anyway, but also because right now he was, as per usual, on the phone to his Rob.

"I had such a fucking weird dream last night, baby," he informed his boyfriend, who probably should have been packing himself for his own flight to Italy, but was too busy being distracted by Jerome. "It makes absolutely no sense, so you'd better be sitting down and ready."

"Done and done," Robert said, turning the camera to where he was sprawled out on his bed and then to a disgruntled looking Wojciech Szczęsny, who was throwing his clothes into a suitcase. "I am doing absolutely nothing at the moment, so I have all the time in the world. Blast away, Jeri."

Leroy poked his head out of the bathroom of his and Jerome's room. "Jerome, man, are you still talking to Robert? You know if you don't get packed on time, Fips is going to kill both of us, right? You haven't even picked up a single item of clothing-" 

"Shut up, Leroy," Jerome said loudly. "Nobody was talking to you. Nobody _ever_ talks to you, because nobody likes you. And I'd like to see Fips try and kill me. He can't even reach  _one_ major organ of mine." 

"Okay, Marc-Andre, we'll see," Leroy sighed. Jerome threw his pillow at him. 

"Right, where was I?" Jerome said to Robert, when Leroy ducked back into the bathroom again. "Before that fucking little twit interrupted me?" 

"You were going to tell me about your fucking weird dream," Robert reminded him.

"Yes!" Jerome clapped his hands.  "My fucking weird dream. Okay, where to begin? So, it started off when we were in Sabener, and out on the training pitch. It looked like it was a normal training session, the only thing being that the  _national_ team was there, along with the spaghetti bastards, the peeling oranges and you guys. Poland." 

"Nice. I wasn't quite sure what you meant by  _you_ guys, given that you were describing national teams and I am Polish, so thank you for clarifying-"

"Shut up, Labertasche, you're stupid, so I often have to make sure you can keep up," Jerome said airily. Robert grinned. "Anyway, we were on the training pitch in Sabener, and there were all these teams here, and somehow there was a huge crowd stretching all around the block, singing, _"Das Runde muss ins Eckige"_ ** _._** Jogi was really mad, and he was going on and on about how there had been scheduling problems, and that we had been set to play in Wolfsburg but somehow our pilot lost its way and ended up here." 

"And the other national teams?" Robert asked curiously. "How did  _we_ end up in  _Sabener?_ "

"Well, apparently Poland's coach thought that you would play better in your club's training ground, so he had told UEFA to assign your match with Italy to Sabener."

Robert burst out laughing. "Your subconscious really had to do me like that? Jerzy was that desperate to get me to play well?" 

"That's  _not_ what my subconscious was saying," Jerome said, though now he had said it he could sort of see Robert's reasoning for thinking that. "Anyway, your coach was telling Jogi he'd have to clear out, but fucking Koeman was saying that he'd had to bring his team on foot to Sabener because of Germany losing their way and that he wasn't going to play anywhere else because of that." 

"Honestly, your team is so surreal and disorganised that that shit would probably happen in real life. And the spaghetti men?" Robert chuckled. 

"Oh, you know them, they were just tagging along, hoping they'd get to play one of the big boys. You know, because they're _unqualified._ Eventually the officials said we'd have to play the matches one after the other. Zaza was Italy's captain, apparently, and he said we should have a coin flip to decide what two teams got to play first. And then Marco- oh man-" Jerome was cackling. "Marco in my dream, he said, 'maybe we should have a penalty shootout and whoever wins it gets to play first instead!', and then he did finger guns and winked at Zaza who sat down and looked sad. And then I woke up!" 

"What do you mean, Marco said that in your dream? Marco said that in real life. He _must_ have. Right to Zaza's face!" Robert laughed. "Your subconscious has gotten that man down to a T."

"I don't think Marco's even met Zaza," Jerome reminded Robert. "He wasn't at that tournament. Shame, really, it would've made it all ten times funnier." 

"Basti must have been feeling the best out of all of you after that shitshow," Robert said thoughtfully, not wanting to think about _his_ team's quarter-final penalty shootout shitshow.

"Yeah, definitely. He was crying with _relief_ afterwards, along with his laughter. That would be a horrifying miss to think about if we _lost_ that absolute shambles of a shootout, eh? Luckily, our best boy Jonas was there to save the day." Jerome gave a contented sigh. 

"Speaking of shambles," Robert said wryly. "Wouldn't it be funny if my man Simone got a pen in our match and scored it?"

Jerome glared at Robert. "Yes, it would be fucking hilarious, actually. But it won't happen. Not this shit again, Rob." 

"I'm just saying!" Robert said, raising his hands and trying to suppress a grin at how indignant Jerome looked. "Even I'd have to laugh at something like that." 

"I fucking wouldn't," Wojciech's voice came from in the background. "I will  _not_ concede like that. I will concede in  _any other way_ than that. If I did let in a Zaza pen, that'd just be the nail in a decaying coffin. I'd retire on the spot."

"Your team!" Jerome said crossly, pushing his glasses up adorably so they flashed. "No faith at all in anything! Right! Szczęsny! Get your ass in front of the camera right now!"

There was a noise of alarm followed by incoherent mumbling in the background. Jerome gave Robert a fierce look- Robert snorted and had to pull his friend over in front of the camera to face his boyfriend's ire.

"Right, you listen here, you two, you fucking bananas," Jerome said firmly, as Wojciech fidgeted and Robert tried not to laugh so he didn't annoy Jerome more. "You are both players for huge clubs.  Szczęsny, you play for fucking Juve, Lewandowski, you play for Bayern, the best in world football. You are  _proven_ at the top level. You are going to face the fucking spaghetti men, who are wildly useless and only have  _one_ good player, and that's Buffon!"

"Harder to score-"

"You've scored five past a team in nine minutes, a team with a keeper who hadn't put a foot wrong throughout the whole match that far, shut up!" Jerome told him. Robert gave the Oprah shrug. "Both of you, repeat after me, right now.  _This is a crisis of confidence. We will get over it. We will perform well._ "

The two Polishmen exchanged looks. Jerome's gaze darkened. 

"I  _said,_ repeat after me."

Robert looked like he'd rather go out onto the pitch and score an own goal. But his boyfriend was giving him an inescapable look, so he had to mumble:

"This is a crisis of confidence... we will get over it... we will perform well. Or some stupid shit like that." The last words were very quiet, so Jerome couldn't hear him and then fucking kill him.

The goalkeeper, meanwhile, had mumbled a couple of words here and there and hoped it would be enough to net him a quick escape. Evidently, however, that wasn't enough for Jerome, whose look grew so pointed it seemed to impale him. 

"Right, right," Wojciech grumbled. "This is a crisis of confidence, we will get over it, we will perform well. Happy? I'm not your fucking boyfriend, you don't have to make _me_ say it."

"Yes I do, you're the keeper and your role is just as important as Rob's," Jerome said sternly. "You need to be confident in yourself too. No, not a word of complaint. You matter too. Okay, you can go now, Szczęsny."

"Bye," Wojciech muttered, grimacing at Robert and raising his hand at Jerome. Jerome waved at him. When it was just Robert, Jerome noticed his boyfriend was smiling fondly at him.

"What's that look for, coconut head?" Jerome asked. 

"That was just really nice of you, Jeri," Robert said. "Wojciech hasn't exactly been having a good time recently, having been the one to concede those six. Thanks for reassuring him as well. My boyfriend, the ultimate considerate king."

Jerome smiled and blew Robert a kiss. "You know me. Szczęsny is a nice guy, plus keepers get a lot of flack that is largely undeserved."

"Speaking of that, I hope Manu has a good game with you guys, another performance like the one against France would be amazing," Robert said. Jerome nodded solemnly. "How are Basti and Podolski doing, by the way?"

"Basti and Poldi?" Jerome asked in surprise. "Oh, man, you know what, Rob, I _totally_ forgot about them. I thought they've been looking happy recently, though.  _Basti_ has been looking much happier, anyway. I don't know about Lukas, he's really unpredictable. He's been pretty quiet, though."

" _Podolski_ being  _quiet?_ "

"It's more likely than you'd think," Jerome said, shrugging. "He's usually quiet when he's mad. He builds up a head of steam whilst nobody has any idea about it, and then unleashes it all in one go and absolutely destroys everything in front of him. It's scary, man. But then he's also quiet when he's sad, so it could go either way."

"Well that bodes fucking well for them, doesn't it?" Robert said, looking worried. "How can you think they've been looking happy and then say  _that?_ "

"I don't know, it was just an observation, doesn't mean it's right!" Jerome said. "I'm sure they're okay, I can keep an eye out on Lukas. Basti seems really cheerful, though, so I don't see what can be-"

"There's more than one person in that relationship. Just because Basti is happy, doesn't mean Lukas is," Robert said in concern. "It'd be bad if  _he_ was hiding things now."

"True," Jerome conceded, now frowning. "I'll look out for them, Rob. They don't need any more problems." 

"I hope you're looking out for yourself, too, baby," Robert said gently. "How are _you_ feeling? Are you still having anxiety about the Schalke game?" 

Fucking hell, nothing ever escaped Robert, he never forgot to ask about Jerome. Jerome scratched the back of his neck and started fidgeting with his glasses, pushing them up his head like sunglasses and then letting them fall again. 

"I've been thinking about it a bit," he confessed (and lied slightly, he had been thinking about it a lot), when Robert's gaze refused to break. "But at the moment I've got some bigger things on my mind, so I can push it aside for the time being. These games are more important than my own stupid fears." 

He tried to avoid Robert's look, he really did. 

"Okay, okay," he said finally, when he couldn't take it anymore. " _My fears aren't stupid they're valid and it's okay for me to worry and I shouldn't push it down too deep I should talk about it._ Happy?" 

"On top of the fucking world," Robert said sternly. "If you need a proper venting session when there's more time, just tell me, okay? I feel like you're trying to brush your worries off because you think they're stupid, and that's bullshit. I refuse to let you deflect, Jeri."

"Ja, ja, okay, Schatz. That applies to you too, you know," Jerome said, waving a hand and heating up. "A pre-matchday venting sesh will be good for both of our spirits, huh, baby?"

"For sure," Robert said with a small smile. 

"WILL YOU HURRY UP AND GET READY, TER STEGEN AND LENO!" a bull-like roar emitted from out in the corridor. "YOU'VE BEEN IN THERE FOR TOO LONG, WHAT  _ARE_ YOU DOING? REUS, GÖTZE, KHEDIRA, ÖZIL, KROOS, HECTOR!  _BOATENG AND SANE!_ WILL YOU HURRY _UP_ _!_ "

Leroy poked his head out of the bathroom again and gave Jerome a glare. Jerome sighed.

"Guess you've got to go, Jeri," Robert laughed. "Give big man Fips my love. And the rest of the Bayern idiots. And Mario. And Marco, if he'll take it. And give Toni my hate. Call me when you get there, okay?" 

"Yep, yep, will do, see you, baby. Have a safe flight!" Jerome said, finally getting up from his bed and looking towards his thoroughly unpacked luggage, wincing at the thought of what Fips was going to say when he found out how behind Jerome was. "Give my love to Wojciech!"

"Thanks, Jeri," Wojciech muttered in the background.

"Have a safe flight too. I love you!" Robert blew Jerome a kiss and winked at him.

"Love you more!"

***

The night had not treated Jonas well. After a long period of tossing and turning in bed for no real reason, he had checked the time out of pure frustration, and had been horrified to discover he had been lying awake for seven whole hours. He  _had_ been tired. His entire body had been dully aching and begging him to just fucking drop off, but his mind had been so electric that his eyes had remained wide open for all that time.

It was only until around  _eight_ in the morning that he finally managed to drift off into a restless sort of unconsciousness, but he couldn't even enjoy a single hour of sleep, because before he knew it Fips was yelling at everyone to wake up and get their shit together for the flight later on.

Toni was already up when Jonas sat up groggily, his eyes aching from sleeplessness and his entire body complaining. When he saw that Jonas was awake, he smiled. 

"Jesus Christ, you look fucking terrible," was his morning greeting. "Didn't sleep well?"

"Fucking hell, no," Jonas mumbled, rubbing his eyes and wincing at the strain of his headache.  "I feel like someone's kicked my fucking head, with full-studs and everything. I'm so fucking tired, and I feel dizzy as hell.  _Fuck_." 

His exhaustion seemed to have also turned off his filter. Toni was rather impressed for a moment, but of course Jonas had to go and ruin it all by suddenly realising exactly what he had said and hurrying to apologise. 

"Sorry, that was so rude, you don't even care about that, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to vent like that!" he said worriedly, picking up his duvet and throwing it over his head so he could hide his face from Toni. 

"Yes, you really hit me hard when you expressed human emotion whilst being tired and in pain," Toni said flatly. "It offended me beyond belief when you told me how you really felt after clearly having a bad night. I haven't a single drop of concern for your wellbeing whatsoever, I'd prefer you to be a silent, still robot who only passes the ball to me on the pitch and never expresses an opinion."

Jonas knew Toni was being sarcastic, but it didn't stop him from feeling fucking stupid anyway. He buried his head into his hands, still covered by his duvet, glad that Toni couldn't see him.

"Why didn't you sleep, anyway?" Toni asked. "Are you feeling ill or something?" 

"I have no idea," Jonas mumbled. "I sometimes have nights where I just can't get to sleep no matter how much I try... and it just ends up with me feeling shit, and ends up with me playing shit, as per usual. B-but it doesn't matter, really-"

"Do you have insomnia or something?" Toni said, ignoring Jonas's attempts at brushing it off. "Does this happen a lot?" 

Jonas shrunk even further under his duvet. "Well... at certain times it gets worse, sometimes it doesn't happen at all, I don't know."

"Maybe you should talk to someone about that," Toni said, sounding somewhat concerned. "I mean, you don't look or sound so good right now, it can't be good for your game."

"It's fine, really," Jonas said flapping his arms under his duvet. "It doesn't happen that much. When it does happen, I don't really know why, but I don't think it's insomnia or anything medical like that. So it's not that serious."

Toni looked thoughtful. "What if it's anxiety?"

Jonas finally let the duvet fall so his face was exposed to the light again. "A-Anxiety?"

"Ja. I'm not saying anxiety as in the  _condition,_ anxiety, by the way- I can't fucking diagnose that," Toni said. "But, I mean, I don't know if you've noticed this about yourself, but you're a pretty nervous guy. What I'm trying to say is, is this nervousness keeping you up at night? Are you having thoughts that trouble you?"

"Thoughts that trouble me...?" Jonas blinked. "Y-Yeah, I guess so. Sometimes I get nervous before games, or about... about stressful stuff, maybe that is a reason why I can't sleep..."

"Hmmm... I don't really get nervous about football," Toni said slowly. "But, when Jessica was pregnant with Leon, I totally lost my mind with nerves. Close to his birth, I'd spend so much time pacing up and down instead of sleeping, going over all sorts of different scenarios in my mind. I was so afraid I wouldn't be a good father, that he'd grow up resenting me for a mistake I made or something like that. I had dreams about dropping babies and Jessica yelling at me for being useless and everything like that. I never told her, because I thought she'd laugh at me."

This was so sweet that Jonas had to smile, despite his nervousness. "And it all ended up okay in the end. You're a great father!"

"Genau," Toni said, gesturing at Jonas and raising his eyebrows. "It all ended up okay in the end. All my scenarios never happened and Jessica never yelled at me once. Leon is a happy, healthy little boy and I love him more than anything. So all my worrying was for nothing, eh?"

Jonas knew what Toni was getting at.

"If you're agonising over the details, about outcomes you can't control and the future, maybe you should think that there are also possibilities where something  _good_ will happen," Toni said gently. "Remember that your mind often exaggerates things when you're nervous- it makes you feel like a bad person, it lowers your expectations so you don't end up getting disappointed or hurt by something. It can punish you, too, if you let yourself get consumed by all these sorts of thoughts. Try not to."

Jonas' lips quirked up. "Toni..."

Toni noticed how he was smiling and went red. "Jesus Christ. That was some shit advice. This is why I don't do the heart-to-heart thing, that's more Jeri's thing."

"It's not shit advice," Jonas said earnestly. "Don't worry, Toni, really, you've made me feel a bit better."

"'A bit' is the most I can hope for, I guess," Toni laughed, and then he held his hand up. " _No apologies, it was a joke!_ Anyway, you don't have to bury your head in sand out of embarrassment if you're still bothered by this problem. I know you feel like you don't deserve any love or care in the world, but I'm here to tell you you do, just as much anyone else. You'd lend your help to anyone and you deserve the same thing back. I know I seem like a bit of a dickhead, and I'm definitely no Jeri, but you can talk to me whenever you want to, if you're feeling shit. I'd be happy to listen."

Jonas's whole body seemed to have been set alight. "Toni!"

"Argh, fucking hell," Toni said, looking horrified as Jonas actually teared up a little. "Don't be sad... Did I put my foot in it again? I should just stick to football instead of opening my damn mouth."

"I'm not sad!" Jonas laughed. "I'm just happy. Thank you. You're so kind. It's more than I deserve-"

" _Ne, ne, ne,_ " Toni said firmly, cutting him off. "It's exactly what you fucking deserve. You are not exempt from receiving kindness, Jonas. You haven't done anything not to deserve it, unlike Reus. Stop putting yourself down, and realise that you are worth something too. You're a giver, and you need to get something back."

Jonas had to dive under the duvet again.

***

 _A header and a front flip had gained him Michael's attention, but a_ hat-trick  _of headers and a front flip had gained him Michael's heart._

_Miro had later joked that he surely had competition with Oliver, given Michael's seeming preference for his heading men, but Michael had kissed him and assured him that so much more had given Miro the edge. For one thing, his shyness was 'adorable', his eyes were apparently beautiful, and, according to Michael, Miro was one of 'the funniest, sweetest and most intelligent' men that he had ever met._

_"Also," Michael had snorted. "Bierhoff isn't cute."_

_Under normal circumstances, Miro wouldn't have believed him. Michael was so much more confident and charismatic than he was, and had been since the first day they had met in 2001- back when Miro had been incapable of stringing two coherent words together, and Michael had been one of the most popular members of the squad. But one year later, after that exhilarating first matchday in Japan, and being wrapped up in Michael's arms, Miro really could believe that Michael loved him._

_And he knew that he loved the man back._

_How else could he have explained the overwhelming joy he had felt when Michael had crashed into him in their hotel room after the game was over? What other reason could there have been for his sudden impulse to initiate that wonderful first kiss? Why else would he have been feeling so palpably content right now?_

_He had always felt a warm, curious feeling stirring inside of his stomach when he had interacted with Michael. Whenever their hands had brushed, or their eyes had met in the middle of a training session, or when they had shared laughter over the silliest things, he had felt that vague, untraceable happiness in his_ bones _. Now that feeling had possessed him, and had given him so much joy. In the weeks following their first night together, the sensation only grew._ _Wins meant kisses in the locker rooms once the squad had cleared out, hands were squeezed when nobody's eyes were in their direction and the nights they shared were so_ passionate _when they were hidden away from everyone else._

 _This aspect of their relationship was something they both recognised but chose to leave unsaid. Beneath the consuming happiness both of them had been wrapped up in following the beginning of their relationship, there was also a vague unease. It showed in the way they made sure not to leave their fingers interlocked when their teammates were around, and how they were always checking to make sure they were entirely alone before melting into each other- one time, Michael had leaned in for a kiss, and had jumped back as if_ burned  _when they had heard the incoming footsteps of their goalkeeper captain, who had been looking to see where they had gotten to._

_Both of them were hiding. They never addressed it. They never thought about the reason for it. They simply accepted that their love would have to be quiet._

_"I've never kissed a man before you," Miro told Michael, the night after the semi-final in Seoul, after the man had guaranteed their spot in the final. "Did you know that?"_

_"I sort of expected that would be the case," Michael chuckled. "Given that you can barely even look at an attractive one without turning into liquid."_

_Miro elbowed him. "I was flattering you, Mikey. You're the first man I decided was good enough for me."_

_"Words can't express how much that means to me,"  Michael deadpanned. Usually he was the one being cocky and Miro was the one being wry, but they tended to switch roles a lot anyway. "You're lucky I took you under my wing at all, Klose, you should be grateful to me."_

_"I guess I should be thankful," Miro said softly. "Because I love you so much. You're so important to me. I didn't even know I was, well, gay, before I met you."_

_"I love you more. And I guess it's not so easy to realise it," Michael murmured, now looking away from Miro. "Not when everyone else is as straight as a corner flag pole in this squad."_

_Miro's brow furrowed in that adorable way it did. "I struggled with my feelings for a while. I thought it would be too complicated to have a relationship with you, especially when football is... how it is. I didn't even think you liked me back. But I'm glad I got over those stupid fears in the end and just fucking kissed you."_

_"You were more brave than me," Michael admitted. "A lot of times I thought, just lean forwards and kiss him, Ballack. But I couldn't dredge up the nerve to do it. I thought it'd make everything so hard. In the end, it was you, my shy, stuttering and quiet Miro, who showed me what I would have lost if I kept being cowardly."_

_"You're not cowardly, Mikey," Miro said. "Have_ you  _ever kissed a man before me?"_

_"No," Michael mumbled._

_"You see?" Miro whispered, once he had fought through his momentary flash of surprise. "It's a new step for the both of us. Not everyone seizes these crazy urges, and you didn't miss any opportunities anyway. I'm here now, aren't I?"_

_And he always would be, Miro had asserted. After that crushing final, they had been there for each other once more, in disappointed tears but also solidarity. Miro had said he hadn't done enough, Michael had told him there was nothing he could have done. They parted after returning home in almost cautionary spirits- now they would be playing for different clubs again, off the disappointment of the World Cup, and with even more obstacles other than teammates between them._

_But their bond still didn't weaken. They called each other every day, detailing every shenanigan that was going on within their respective clubs, talking about all and everything, and  they cherished each and every moment they got together, whether it be when they faced off on the pitch, or those wonderful international breaks where they spent every free second with each other. Miro's teammates teased him about his tendency to daydream and asked him who the lucky girl was all the time. Miro would blush and stammer and shake it off, they would roar with laughter, and he would feel as though he had escaped a bullet._

_It was almost naive, how he had expected this happiness to be everlasting._

_The Euros of 2004 had been possibly the most disastrous experience of Miro's career, of all the Germany squad at the time's careers. The arrival of Philipp Lahm, Bastian Schweinsteiger and Lukas Podolski were probably the only positives that had come out of the whole ordeal. Michael had been given the captain's armband, but he had been unable to motivate his men to do anything. Miro had not been completely fit, having just returned from a knee injury, and he had been unable to score. The team, along with Spain and Italy, had been eliminated in the group stages._

_There had been anger, there had been disillusionment. Most of all, however, there had been blame. Fingers were being pointed left and right, profanities flew. Eventually, the disdain had been directed at Michael._

_It was Wörns who delivered the decisive blow. Miro had, for once, been actively involved in this argument, and he had stepped in to defend Michael, saying there was no way the tournament run had been his fault. Driven beyond frustration and into cruelty, Wörns had swept his arm out and snarled, "Of course you'd rush in to defend him, Klose, his cock is so far down your throat that not a negative word about him can slip from your mouth, you fucking pathetic Schwuchteln!"_

_Michael had gone white, Miro had flinched as if he had been hit, and the whole squad had gone stock-still. The young Fips, who had been standing on the fringe of it all having been one of Germany's best performers, found the courage to speak up at these words._

_"Don't be such a fucking horrible person," he said angrily. "You don't have to bring personal insults into this like a child, and you don't have to be a homophobic_ bastard _either_. _"_

_"Yeah, and they're not even together, what the fuck," Lukas Podolski said in turn. He was trying to protect the two of them, because Michael looked like he was going to faint. Basti, from beside him, nodded vigorously. "You fucking asshole."_

_"Ha! You're all so blind-"_

_W_ _örns had looked as though he was going to scream with derisive laughter, but it was Oliver who stepped in then, looking incredibly menacing._

 _"This little fucking hissy fit is going to end,_ now _," he snarled at them all. "ALL of us underperformed! ALL of us are responsible for this embarrassing elimination! There's no point pointing the finger at each other and trying to find someone to scapegoat, no point in trying to score low blows to soothe our own egos! EVERYONE WAS SHIT! If the papers are going to crucify us, it'll be well deserved! UNDERSTOOD?"_

_Everyone understood, but nobody wanted to accept it. There was a great deal of dark mumbling- people glared at Wörns, people gave uncertain looks to Miro and Michael, people avoided Oliver's glower. Fips felt so sorry for Miro, who had been so kind to him so far, and didn't deserve this._

_Michael didn't say a word for a long time after that. That night, they were silent._

_And that silence continued. Miro could sense how much Wörns' words had scared Michael. The sight of his teammates' unsure expressions, recent news articles springing up about homophobia and the likes and how they had been hiding so much up until this point had been haunting Miro, but it had clearly been haunting Michael more. When they saw each other, there was that same tangible sense of relief, of feeling complete, but also even more paranoia. The media were dangerous. The crowds were dangerous. Their own teammates seemed dangerous, even though they had never really said anything about it, and there were definitely very supportive people near them. They were both being irrational, but they had grown up in a time where these things were not as easy as they were today, where the atmosphere was not as accepting..._

_So when Michael broke it off with him, Miro understood. It had crushed him more than anything had crushed him up until that point, but he knew that this was all too much anxiety for Michael, and that was not how he wanted the person he loved to feel._

_"I love you so much, Miro, you don't understand," Michael had sobbed into his shoulder. "It's just too hard for me. I'm too weak."_

_"You are not weak, Mikey," Miro whispered back, even though his broken heart was screaming,_ yes, you are, yes, you are, I'd fight to stay with you.  _"We're still best friends at heart. I will still always love you."_

_The world had felt a little more empty without Michael by his side. But the amazing thing was, things hadn't broken down beyond repair. Miro had expected continued friendship to be impossible given all the pain, but they were still able to laugh together, even if it was a little awkward at first- and eventually things had thawed out. They talked, they spent time together, they called, and although Michael often ended up crying helplessly over the line and Miro still sometimes felt a chilly nothingness inside of him, the friendship that had started this all had lasted. To this day, Michael was still his 'Mikey'._

_And to this day, there was still pain._

_Miro had met Sylwia eventually. And now he had Luan and Noah._

_But that was another story that had ended in disarray._

"Miro, Miro, Miro!" 

The sound of a very familiar voice singing his name off-key broke into Miro's subconscious, and the man woke up almost smiling. He wasn't sure why. His insides felt icy. 

"Mario?" Miro mumbled, sitting upright and rubbing his eyes. Sunlight was streaming through the windows and poking his eyes. "What time is it? What's going on?"

"It is nine o'clock!" Mario chirped, sliding in front of Miro's bed and striking a pose for no apparent reason. "Everyone's getting packed for the flight today because they didn't do it yesterday, and our esteemed captain is roaming the hallway at this moment  _tearing_ his throat yelling. He wants us all dead, you know." 

Miro strained his ears and indeed could hear Fips yelling at one end of the corridor. He cringed.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" he groaned. "I haven't done any packing myself. Fips is going to eviscerate me."

"You looked happy while you were asleep," Mario said, shrugging and giving Miro a sunny grin. "Besides, you're always the one waking up early and waking me up, I thought we could switch things around for a change, you know?"

"And now you've condemned me to my death. Thank you for your thoughtfulness."

"Fips can't kill  _everyone_ in the squad, besides, you have a clean record, he'll let you off. He doesn't have any real authority over you, anyway," Mario assured Miro. 

This was somewhat true. Miro was the one who had initiated Fips into the squad and had acted as the big brother- and a younger sibling had no control over their elder. 

"Fair enough. Who would want to kill me anyway? You would be eliminating so much talent," Miro sighed, yawning and stretching. This was something Michael would say any time Miro warned him of Oliver's incoming wrath over something. 

"You'd be eliminating- they'd want to- oh, God, I can't think of a fucking response to that," Mario said in agitation. "Just because I can't think of a comeback, it doesn't mean you're right, okay?"

"You can't think of a comeback because it doesn't exist, because I am  _right,_ just like I always am."

"Okay, Marc-Andre."

Miro winced and clutched his heart. "Okay, you got me there."

Mario burst out laughing. "That was my stoppage time winner, my friend. Get  _up,_ Miro, you lazy idiot. I'll help you pack, because I actually finished mine off earlier."

"What world are we living in, when you're being more organised than me?" Miro said, leaning back against his headboard. He really wasn't feeling motivated to leave the warmth of his bed and start getting his things together.

"A world where I'm the best striker in world football. This one." Mario pointed at himself and then took several step backwards. Miro watched him through squinted eyes, unsure of what Mario was going to do. 

It became apparent a few seconds later- Mario did a run-up and did a mid-air somersault. Unfortunately, unlike Miro, who was actually graceful, Mario lost his balance and landed on his ass.

"Mario!" Miro gasped, half torn by laughter and worry as he bowled out of bed to make sure the man hadn't injured himself. "You idiot, you could've hurt yourself!"

Mario was wincing after the impact of his landing.  Then he raised a hand and said- "I  _could've_ hurt myself. But I didn't. I'm okay. We're all good! And I got you out of bed, didn't I?"

"Don't do something like that when you've just woken up and have no prior experience of doing it," Miro said sternly, extending a hand to help Mario up. "You could end up injuring yourself!"

"Ja, ja," Mario said, rolling his eyes. "You could end up injuring yourself too if you don't hurry up and start getting ready. Listen- can you hear the incoming beast?"

" _H_ _ÖWEDES AND REUS! WHAT IN THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? YOU ARE MEANT TO BE THE ADULT ONE, HERE, HÖWEDES, BUT NOW YOU'RE ACTING JUST AS BAD AS HIM! YES, YOU ARE! NO, I DON'T WANT TO HEAR A WORD OF COMPLAINT FROM YOU! AND HUMMELS! WHAT ARE YOU SNIGGERING AT? DON'T HIT HIM, REUS, YOU DEGENERATE-_ "

"Good lord," Miro said. "I should hurry before he gets here."

Mario winked at him and pointed towards the suitcase. "I'll help you out, my bro." 

"Thank you, Mario," Miro sighed, both of them moving towards the suitcase. "I'm feeling wrong-footed this morning. A temporary blip of form. I'll return to being the competent one tomorrow."

"Happens to all of us at some point. Me more than others," Mario said good-naturedly. "Why  _are_ you feeling wrong-footed, though? Are you okay? What's on your mind?"

"My dear Mario," Miro said, feeling that all-too familiar sensation of guilt crop up again for some reason. "All I can say is, far too much."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the ex dynamic was definitely overdue, the only question was, who was going to be on the receiving end of even more complication? the answer of course, lay with miro. there was no other option, it's perfect and was the perfect way to bring my first football love michael into the equation. mirio, the ball's in your court and you're going to fucking lose in straight sets vs me. i will never stop making your lives more complicated <3
> 
> i got really sad writing miro/michael to be so fuckin cute and then break them up like that wtf. also some reality rule applies again with sylwia, they got married in 2004 in real life, but not in this fic!
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this chapter! as per usual, thank you for reading!!! <33


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 11!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> waheyy, servus leute, wie geht's?
> 
> so, the boys are flying to the netherlands in this chap! im getting antsy, i really want to write a match again, damn me and my plotting which means i have to actually P A C E things! this is a very fillery chapter sorry my bros. hope you enjoy it anyway <3

As a punishment for the disaster in the hotel corridor that had ended up with Jonas's glasses having to now be held together by tape, Jogi had ordered that when the team boarded the plane, Benni and Marco would be sitting _together_. This sort logic from the coach would never fail to bemuse Fips, given that both of them were currently fuming and were liable to cause even more trouble, but perhaps,  _perhaps,_ it would be a better scenario than Marco and  _Mats_ sitting together...

"Fucking bullshit!" Benni raged, when Jogi had issued his condemnation along with a sentence of eight extra laps when they got to the Netherlands' training ground. "He was the one that emptied out my entire suitcase, and  _I'm_ getting punished for it!"

"You weren't exactly squeaky clean yourself, Benedikt," Mats said, carefully trying to restrain his laughter as he saw Marco waving his arms furiously up ahead. "I mean, look at what you  _both_ did topoor Jonas's glasses."

Benni winced. Endless apologies about  _that_ hadn't quite lessened the guilt for either the Schalke centre-back or the Dortmund forward, even if the exhausted looking Jonas- though his expression had been very reminiscient of the strained smiling man meme- had claimed that  _it was all okay, just an accident!_

"I feel so fucking bad about that. We'll give him money for new ones," he said shiftily. "It was a total accident, he walked out at _just_ the wrong time, he always does, I really didn't _mean_ for it to happen. Reus probably fucking did, though."

"Yeah, he bathes in even Jonas's despair," Mats agreed. "Because he's a cunt."

Marc-Andre, who was nearby, looked back at them from where he was with Leroy. "Oh, come on! Marco isn't that bad! He's actually a really nice guy!"

Mats and Benni both gave him a disgusted look. Even Leroy looked at him quizzically.

"Ter Stegen... Did literally anybody ask you for your opinion? Does _anybody_ ever ask for your opinion?" Mats said. "How would you know a damn thing about what he's like? _You_ haven't been dealing with him properly for all this time."

"True!" Marc-Andre said. "But I know he can't really be that bad, because the stuff he says to you is actually pretty tame, given all the stupid shit you do! He could be so much worse, but he isn't!"

Mats and Benni slowly exchanged looks. Benni looked as though Marc-Andre had told him Dortmund had been relegated, Mats looked like he didn't know  _how_ to feel.

"Is it... possible?" Benni said slowly. "Did Marc-Andre just successfully roast you, Mats?"

Leroy's mouth was hanging open- his entire life had gone by without hearing a good roast from his friend, and now... "Marc... my bro... my apprentice... my companion... did you just..."

"Why are you all looking at me like that?" Marc-Andre demanded, a little offended by the abject shock on everyone's face. "Yeah, I roasted him, and amazingly, too!"

Mats wanted to eat soap. The first time Marc-Andre had roasted somewhat well in his life... and it had been directed at  _him..._

"EVERYONE!" Leroy yelled, immediately speeding off to inform the rest of the group of this shocking new development. "MARC-ANDRE JUST SUCCESSFULLY ROASTED MATS!"

"Sané..." Mats said weakly, but there was no stopping him. The story was already spreading. When the news reached Bernd, the man's eyebrows raised and he turned towards Mats.

"Pathetic, Hummels!" he called. There were shouts of agreement.

"Hey!" Marc-Andre said indignantly. "It's not pathetic being roased by me! And it's not  _that_ shocking! I'm better at roasting than you, anyway, you bastard!"

"Better at roasting any attempt at making a good save into cinders, if that's what you mean-" 

"I can roast your mother with my flaming attractiveness, you, however, leave her cold-" Marc-Andre hesitated at the end of this sentence, wondering what on Earth it meant.

"And there it is, obviously you being intelligent with your words wasn't going to last long," Bernd laughed.

Marco, who just had to laugh at Mats being put in his place by  _Marc-Andre,_ turned away to hide his smile as the two backup goalkeepers actually struck up a flowing exchange of bickering. It sounded far more like how they used to be, rather than how nervy and unsure of themselves they had been sounding recently. 

"Lord almighty, make it stop," Fips groaned up ahead, from next to him. "I thought we'd been experiencing relative  _quiet_ from those two..."

"I thought we had been too," Mario Götze said thoughtfully. "It looks like they've just reverted to their degenerate state again."

"What do you mean  _reverted?_ " Marco sighed. "They have  _always_ been like this. You wouldn't say Herne-West has  _reverted_ to being a shit club, because they always have been a shit club. I told you all your detective work was unneccessary."

"What would  _you_ know? You, my love, don't recognise anyone's emotions but yourself," Mario told him stubbornly. "I'm telling you, they were acting super suspicious at first, and nothing will change my mind about that."

"Nobody can change your mind about anything," Marco told him. "And everyone calls me the obstinate one."

When they reached the airport lounge, where Jogi had to rush around dealing with some last-minute details, it became clear that everyone was just itching to get to the Netherlands. They needed to get their boots on and play the game against their huge rivals, to show them up. Insults were flying about the 'Oranje', with many, many jokes being made.

"Hey, Boateng!" Joshua called over to Jerome, who was currently wrestling Toni. "Why couldn't we swap places with your fucking boyfriend? At least Italy are  _entertainingly_ bad, the Netherlands are just  _boringly_ bad. Unqualified buffoons." 

"Take comfort in the fact that both the spaghetti men and the orange peels will be defeated on the same day," Jerome said soothingly. "Rob is going to turn Buffon into tagliatelle, Barzagli is going to look like a Serie D player, Giacherinni is going to look like the Bolognese player he is-"

"And don't forget Pelle," Manu called. "Fucking bastard tried to tell me where he was going to put it in the net, and dragged it  _tamely_ wide. If Robert can't get past him, he can't get past anyone."

Jerome grinned an adorably proud grin, and then an expression of horror stole onto his face.

"WOOD!" he bellowed, sprinting up to Manu, who at first looked bewildered, but then rolled his eyes as Jerome grabbed his hand and slammed it against a bench.

"Seriously, Jeri," Toni said out of pure exasperation. "How much faith do you  _really_ have in Lewandowski if you're so afraid a couple of words are going to jinx him?"

"Don't underestimate the power of jinxing," Marco said wisely, to spare Jerome having to respond to this... uncomfortable, and yet enlightening question. "I remember Roman telling us all that he knew exactly how Arjen Robben's game worked, and look how that ended up."

"HA! Oh, Roman. A man who should never, ever change." Marco's comment seemed to give Fips a _very_ good laugh, which almost offended him. None of Marco's usual jokes had  _ever_ incited such a response out of the captain, and yet a joke at his own expense seemed to have amused him greatly.

Kai had bounced over to the group at the sound of all the laughter, dragging Julian and Bernd along with him. "Are we dissing the Netherlands over here? I'm  _so_ down for that. Frenkie de Jong thinks that  _he's_ going to be the new midfield beacon in international football, but he could not be more sorely mistaken!"

"Thanks, kid," Leon said, seizing Fips in a headlock from behind (the man instantly broke free and hit him). 

"I'm sorry, Leon?" Kai asked. "Were you implying that I was saying that  _you_ were going to be the new midfield beacon?"

Leon placed a hand on his chest. "Yes. It touched my heart."

Joshua broke into a coughing fit that comprised of many words, including, "fraud", "untalented" and "deluded".

Leon pretended not to hear him. Kai, however, drew up to his full height (Marc-Andre was suddenly aware of the fact the kid was taller than  _him,_ what the fuck.)

"Leon!" he said brightly. "I don't know how to break this to you, but the only thing that will be touching your heart whilst I am your international teammate is envy! They compare me to Michael Ballack and Mesut Özil. Who do they compare you to? Weston McKennie?"

Julian cracked up, Benni scowled at the dig at his teammate (and the insinuation Leon was still associated with Schalke), Fips snorted and Leon thought back to when he had thought Kai was a ray of sunshine. He sort of  _was,_ he was wearing a cheeky grin that showcased all of his bright white teeth and he was bouncing on the balls of his feet, full of mischievous energy. But it was the sort of sunshine that was overly bright and hurt your eyes. 

"They compare me to  _Bastian Schweinsteiger and Toni Kroos,_ " Leon said indignantly.

"Jesus, don't say that," Toni said in horror. "I can't be that bad."

"Hey!"

"Michael told me himself he can already see you stepping into his shoes," Miro said fondly, ruffling Kai's hair. "Prove it to him this break, if you get playing time, eh? I won't say anything about Mesut, in case I risk his wrath- he's still alive and kicking. Not for long, though."

"Can  _you_ really talk, Miroslav Klose? You have less time than any of us," Mesut, who was beside Sami and listening carefully to the conversation, chipped in. 

Mario patted Miro's back.

"Can you not write me off like this?" Leon said, aghast. But nobody was listening.

"Oh, man!" Kai said, now looking anxious. "I feel like I've just totally jinxed my entire career! I was only joking! Did Michael Ballack say that  _for real?_ I can't be better than him, nobody can, what the  _frick-_ "

He turned to Julian, clutching his face in horror. "Michael Ballack has expectations of me!"

"Wow, that is quite scary. Well done, Miro, you've made him nervous," Julian admonished Miro, opening his arms as Kai fell into him, looking distraught. "Those aren't the sort of expectations you put on a new teammate!"

Miro looked genuinely guilty. "I'm sorry, Kai, I didn't mean to put any pressure on you. If it makes you feel better, Mikey wasn't _that_ good. His boots won't be that difficult to fill."

"Mikey?" Kai said, looking genuinely puzzled against Julian. And then he looked enlightened and broke out of the embrace, pointing at Miro. "Oh, you mean  _Michael!_ Michael Ballack!"

"... Yes," Miro said. "Who did you think I was talking about?" 

"You can't fool me, Miroslav Klose!" Kai said loudly and quickly to cover up his lapse in thought. "Michael Ballack is a GOAT! After the queen Mesut, of course. I could never live up to him!"

He fell back into Julian again with a melodramatic wail.

"Everyone is a GOAT to you, Havertz," Leon said impatiently. " _I_ was a GOAT to you at some point."

"No, you weren't," Kai said miserably, as Julian patted his back. "I was just saying it because I can't call a teammate I've just met shit, can I?"

Everyone laughed and Leon went to tackle Kai, who yelped and had to be protected by Julian.

Leroy couldn't help but think that Kai had already moved above him in the totem pole, and it had been a few days. That... was not how things were meant to be.

When Jogi returned to inform the team that they were to be boarding the plane soon, he was greeted by the ever-familiar sight of three grown-ups (okay, no, it was two grown-ups and a kid) wrestling whilst in turn being surrounded by a ring of grown-ups shouting, "kämpfen, kämpfen, kämpfen!" He recognised Leon and Julian grappling with each other, with Kai trapped in the middle of them, yelling for peace.

He placed one hand over his eyes. Not today.

"Jogi! Good to see you," Marco said brightly, when he saw his coach. "But if you're here, who's guarding Hades?"

"It's Goretzka, Havertz and Brandt who should be concerned about that," Jogi said darkly. He strode up to the fight.

Three extra laps later and some classic Jogi evisceration later, the coach was standing in front of the team with his expression a  _storm._

"Oh, man!" Kai whispered to Julian, looking dismayed at the expression on Jogi's face. "That was so bad, that was just like the time when Bosz said-"

"Everyone!" Jogi said sharply and clearly, as Fips rolled his eyes and yanked down the hood Leon had pulled over his eyes to hide his shame. "I have a question for you. For all the people assembled here, in airport, this _public space_ , at this very moment- how many of you are younger than twenty years old? Raise your hand if you are."

Kai alone raised his hand tremulously, and everyone sniggered at the incredibly nervous expression on the boy's face.

Jogi made a show of checking to see if anyone else had their hand raised. 

"Just one! Okay, Havertz, you can put your hand down. Now, I have another question. How many of you are  _older_ than twenty years old?"

Everyone else raised their hand cheerfully.

"Interesting!" Jogi said. "Now, I want you to think about what you just observed. Nearly every single person here raised their hand when I called for all those over twenty to do so."

"And what conclusion have you drawn from this, dear Coach?" Basti asked. 

"I'll tell you,  _dear_ Bastian," Jogi said softly. "My conclusion is, you, as adults, as professional football players, ALL BEHAVE WORSE THAN A LITERAL CHILD!" 

Kai didn't know whether to be offended that Jogi had just called him a 'literal child' or relieved that Jogi was saying he behaved better than the others. He decided to be positive and take it as a compliment.

"WE ARE ABOUT TO BOARD A PLANE!" Jogi continued his rant, as Julian pulled his shirt up to cover his face in embarrassment, Basti-style. "AND THEN WE WILL BE LANDING IN THE NETHERLANDS! I'M NOT SURE WHETHER I _SHOULD_ BE ASKING NEAR THIRTY YEAR OLDS TO MAKE SURE THEY DON'T MAKE AN EMBARRASSMENT OF THEMSELVES IN FRONT OF THE WIDER WORLD, BUT SOMETIMES THE FINER DETAILS OF CERTAIN CAREERS DON'T MAKE IT INTO THE JOB DESCRIPTION!"

"Our legally binding contract of absolutely no mutual respect was there, actually, it was just written in really small letters," Marco whispered to Jerome, who fought to keep a straight face.

"SO I, AS YOUR COACH, AS POSSIBLY THE ONLY MAN IN THE WORLD UNLUCKY ENOUGH TO BE BORN IN THE COUNTRY THAT HAS THIS NATIONAL TEAM, ASK YOU- PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, ON THIS FLIGHT-  _BEHAVE YOURSELVES!_ "

Kai jumped and flinched as Jogi's razor sharp gaze fell on him. He hated, hated,  _hated,_ getting yelled at. The best thing he could probably do at this moment was stay silent and avoid any eye-contact.

Everyone else, however, did not seem to share his sentiment. Simultaneously, they cracked evil, identical grins.

The sight of that was almost enough to make Jogi retire on the spot. 

***

"Kai, can you do me a favour?" Julian asked, once he had settled down by the window, finally on board the plane. Kai, although he would rather eat his boots than admit it to anyone other than Jule, was afraid of heights and always,  _always_ took the aisle seat.

"I'd kill for you, but go on!" Kai said brightly. 

"I just needed you to get me my Lucozade from my bag, I put it in the overhead cabin," Julian said. "I have a deck of cards in there, too, if you want to play Uno."

Kai beamed and nodded and unbuckled his seatbelt, shooting out of his seat so quicky that Fips, who was half-listening to Leon's talk about his new boots, gave him a wary look. Fortunately, it didn't seem like the boy was planning anything, he just got out a bag from the cabin and sat down again. Still, you always had to be on alert. Fips had spent enough time with Thomas to know that even the most inconspicuous of gestures could strike up mayhem. 

"Thanks, bro," Julian said, patting Kai's head and taking the bag from him. Leon seemed to realise Fips was distracted and clapped his hands over the man's ears.

"Fips!" he said in a wounded voice. "I listened to  _you_ talking about your being a ballboy at Olympiastadion for like,  _hours_. And you can't even listen to me for five minutes!"

"I'm sorry, Leon, I got distracted, there," Fips said, returning his gaze to the boy. 

"And you're always complaining that  _we_ have short attention spans," Leon said crossly. He sank down low in his seat, crossing his arms like a child. "Maybe I should stop saying anything at all."

"Do," Fips said dryly. When Leon continued to sulk, he rolled his eyes and nudged the midfielder. "There'll be plenty of time for me to listen to you properly when the plane sets off, Leo, I just have to make sure nobody dies before that first. Look, over there. Look what people are sitting in close vicinity to each other."

Marco and Benni, as per their punishment, were sitting with each other, Benni in the aisle (he too, had a bit of trepidation with heights) and Marco in the window seat. Mats was sitting in the row in front of them next to Jonas, meaning that he was  _still_ somehow close to Marco. Jerome and Toni were in front of Mats, next to Thomas and Manu, and Sami and Mesut were sitting behind Marco and Benni, next to Bernd and Mario.

And Marc-Andre and Leroy, of course, were right behind _them._

"Okay, maybe you're right," Leon snorted. "But do you want to know where the  _real_ tea will come from? Manuel Neuer. You watch, he's going to snap at all of them at some point, and I'll be right here, away from the disaster zone. I'll be  _safe._ "

"Is that so?" Fips said idly. "So you're not concerned about overstepping the line with me?" 

"No. You have no power over me, Fips." 

"He has no power over us, either," Basti's voice rang out from behind them. A finger poked Fips' cheeks. "Isn't that right, Philipp?"

Fips turned his gaze very slowly to the gap between the seats.  _Very_ slowly. There was Basti, wearing a shit-eating grin, with Lukas already asleep against his shoulder. 

"Schweinsteiger," Fips said carefully. " _No._ "

He then turned back around.

After some fuss and last minute threats from Jogi and staff (with the coach reminding them ominously that there _were_ parachutes on board), and Mesut and Sami having already been condemned to two extra laps for their reaction to Marco flicking peanuts at them, it seemed like it was finally time to take off. Julian took a look at Kai's face as the plane started rumbling, and then leaned down to rummage in his bag, pulling out a bag of sweets. He took one out and offered it to Kai, whose eyes were now squeezed shut.

"Suck on it," he said, holding out the sweet. Kai opened his eyes, looking shocked. "I meant the sweet!"

"Oh," Kai said in relief, taking the sweet and placing it on his tongue. And then he shuddered again. "Jule, I so can't do it, this is so scary, look, it's moving, oh my  _God._ "

"You'll be fine, honey," Julian said soothingly. "When it's in the air it feels fine, right? Hold onto my hand, if you want."

Kai seized Julian's outstretched hand at once and started squeezing it  _very_ tightly. Julian grinned and settled back in his seat to look out of the window as the plane started to move.

Benni also seemed to be feeling discomfort, and he was pointedly looking away from Marco and the window with his chin resting against his hand. But of course he didn't want to tell fucking  _Marco_ that he hated heights, and flying even more. Marco was busy rattling off some nonsense about Schalke's recent string of results and immediately noticed that the man he was trying to rile up wasn't even paying attention to him. That wouldn't do.

"Hey!" Marco said, flicking Benni's ear. Benni glared but still didn't look in his direction. "Why are you ignoring me? Nervous about the upcoming game? Longing to be back home in Herne-West, where nobody will expect you to play good football?"

Benni didn't respond again. This annoyed Marco more.

"Höwedes, what's  _wrong_ with you?"

Mats looked back as Marco pressed a finger against Benni's cheek, trying to incite a response from him.

"Benni hates flights, and he hates heights too," he explained.

"That is  _not_ true!" Benni said, giving Mats a furious look, knowing that now he was surely in for it. "Nobody asked you to talk,  _roasted-by-Marc-Andre-Hummels!_ "

Mats looked sullen and turned around again. Marco removed his finger from Benni's cheek.

"Well, well, well," he said, as if savouring every word.  "I should've known that you'd be afraid of heights, Höwedes, _th_ _at's_ why you're so low in the Bundesliga."

"Oh, shut _up_!" Benni shouted, twisting away from him. Marco grinned but for some reason didn't harass Benni much further as the plane lifted off the ground.

Mats had quickly recovered from his strop with Benni and turned to Jonas, whose head was tipped back against his seat. He really didn't look too good at the moment- his eyes were shadowed and his hair was rumpled, but most of all, he looked quite sad. When Jonas saw Mats looking at him, however, he gave a faint smile.

"Everything okay, Mats?" he asked softly.

"Yeah, I'm a-okay," Mats said cheerfully. "What about you? Sad you're stuck with Reus behind you?"

"No, I'm fine," Jonas murmured, still smiling. But he just looked weary.

Mats decided to rack his brains and think of a way to cheer him up. He came up with the perfect idea shortly afterwards.

"Want to play Mario Kart?" he asked. "I've got my Switch on me."

"Oh... sure, if you want!" Jonas said, his eyes brightening up somewhat. "I've only played the Wii version, but I always absolutely slaughter everybody I play against."

Mats was surprised by how straightforward he was about his bragging, but he supposed Mario Kart had an energy that transcended shyness and politeness. He grinned.

"Bold of you to assume that you can beat  _me_ on the  _Switch,_ Hector. But I like that confidence. You're on," Mats said, tapping his nose. He turned to Benni, who, now the plane was soaring through the air and wasn't rising, had relaxed a _little_. "Benni, did you put the Switch in your bag?"

"Yeah," Benni said, ignoring Marco, who had gotten bored of being civil and was now kicking his leg. "But I'm not unbuckling my seatbelt to go and get it. You do it."

"What are you playing?" Marco demanded.

Mats unbuckled his seatbelt just as the signal popped up saying he could do so. "Mario Kart, Fickfehler. You know, the game I always used to fucking eviscerate you at, because you have no skill."

"You never used to  _touch_ me on the Wii version-" Marco said indignantly.

"Yes I did. I came first in  _every race,_ " Mats told him. 

"Fucking lies and libel. Let's play a race now, then, and we'll see-"

"Jonas and I are playing first, he claims he can slaughter everybody," Mats said. "I want to see if that prediction has any basis in fact. Later, Reus."

Jonas blushed a little as Marco looked at him. "I have faith in you, Hector, blow him to pieces. My hopes and dreams rely on it."

"W-Well, I'll try, but when I said I could slaughter everybody it was a joke, really-"

"No it wasn't. It was the  _truth._ You have that killer instinct in your bones," Marco reassured him. "I  _know_ you can beat Hummels, Jonas. If you don't, you'll have to face my disappointment."

"Your disappointment means nothing to him, because nobody cares about your opinion," Benni said, as Jonas went even more red.

"Right, Hummels, I want to play Höwedes, not you, I'll show him that beating him and his filthy club runs in my  _veins-_ "

He was interrupted by a loud bellow of, "CHEAT!"

Everyone looked around, giggling, Jogi with a glare on his face. Mesut, who had just screamed at Sami in the midst of their card-game, turned scarlet, as Sami showed him that he had been wrong about his assertion.

"Take all those cards, Mes," Sami sang, pushing the cards towards him. Mesut scowled. "I'm a  _brilliant_ actor, aren't I, making you think I was cheating?"

"You shut your whore mouth," Mesut said irritably, taking the whole pile. "It was a small error on my behalf. But I can see right through you. I can see through _anyone._ "

Thomas and Manu, who had been playing snap, snorted at Mesut's analysis of his own observational skills.

Mats brought out his Switch and sat back down next to Jonas. "Auf geht's. I'm going to crush you, Hector, you'll regret ever challenging me."

Jonas raised his hands in an almost conciliatory gesture, but also grinned somewhat maliciously. Toni looked back and smiled, pleased to see the mischievous expression on his shy friend's face. 

"Go on, Hector, you'll never walk alone, I've always been your biggest fan!" Marco sang, getting up onto his knees on his seat. Fips, who was now playing Uno with Leon, Julian and Kai, gave him an alarmed look. God, here it all began.

Mats chose one of the hardest courses. Jerome and Toni got up to get a better look at what was going to happen, curious about what the result was going to be.

Mats chose Metal-Mario (Marco made a choice comment about this that had Toni slapping Jerome on the back), Jonas, with an almost ironic smirk on his face, chose Luigi. Mats was now beginning to start his intimidation campaign by being utterly obnoxious, cracking all his knuckles and loudly informing Jonas he was nothing but a fraud who was going to be taught a lesson.

"Go on, fucking insult him back, Hector," Marco urged Jonas, who went red. "There's so much material you can use, I can give you some tips if you want-"

"I'd prefer to say my words on the pitch," Jonas mumbled. "Or- the race-course. Actually, I don't know if that idiom works in this scenario-"

"Fokus, Jonas!" Toni said, clicking his fingers as the race started. 

" _And there Hummels goes!_ " Mats sang, as he instantly shot into first place. "There we go, we been knew, he leads the fray-"

" _It has been five seconds!_ " Benni said aggravatedly. 

"Oh, come on. He counts five seconds without making a fool of himself an achievement, don't take away what makes him happy," Marco said brightly. "You want the best for him, as his significant other. God, what a thought, being Hummels' significant other."

" _Oh, Marc-Andre!_ " Mats warbled, looking delighted as he maintained his lead, not noticing Jonas was fast approaching behind him. Marc-Andre looked over from his conversation with Leroy.

"Yes?" he called.

"UNO!" Kai yelled, from nearby.

"And there we have it," Jonas said very quietly, so nobody but Toni heard him. Mats let out a gasp of shock as a shell went spinning right into him and Jonas quickly rocketed ahead of him. "Es tut mir leid, Mats."

"What the  _fuck,_ " Mats said. "That's _cheating!_ "

Marco cheered. "I knew Hector had that spirit inside of him! Look at him go! First place! And- oh, dear! Hummels goes down to fourth! Prophetic for this season, mayhaps?"

Mats told Marco to do something that made Jerome collapse into his seat, clutching his face in pure embarrassment. Jogi's head whipped around but Mats couldn't have cared less. This little game actually wasn't even the centre of attention right now- Mesut and Sami's game of cheat had reached next levels of competitiveness as Mesut nearly had the whole deck of cards in his hands,  Kai, Julian, Fips and Leon's game of Uno had nearly reduced Julian to tears of exasperation and Manu had just been hit on the back of the head by a bottle thrown by Joshua- and so he was now busily threatening the right-back with bodily harm.

Jonas was still very much in the lead, but Mats, furious at how he had dropped behind, was trying very hard to make a comeback. The centre-back had taken Jonas' assault by shell to heart and was now trying to trash-talk so he could throw the left-back off his game.

"Who even picks  _Luigi?_ " he demanded, swearing as he missed a box. "Like, only irrelevant people think he's worth using. That says something about you, doesn't it, Jonas?"

"Hey, whatever you say. I'm still first, and you're still fifth," Jonas murmured. 

"Wahey!" Marco yelled. "First Marc-Andre, now Jonas! Not your finest moments, eh, Hummels?"

"Hey, Jonas can roast, actually," Toni said fairly, after having coaxed Jerome into rejoining the conversation. "He did me _really_ dirty with that Madrid one. He just needs the confidence to do it more."

"Confidence? I'll give him confidence," Mats snarled, as he dropped into seventh place and Jonas looked flustered. He then proceeded to tell Jonas what he could do to gain said confidence, and Jerome was now officially out for good. Jonas started laughing so hard he could hardly breathe.

"Fucking hell, it's only a game of Mario Kart, Hummels," Marco said in amazement. "Where is all this aggressively sexual imagery coming from? Are you and Höwedes having a dry spell or something?"

"We will be," was all Benni said. Mats looked up in alarm at his words, and at that very moment, he hit a banana peel.

"DU HURENSOHN!"

He had now dropped down to tenth. Jonas, meanwhile, was on his last lap.

"Please, remind me of what you were saying before, Mats," Jonas said softly. "Was it really so bold of me to assume I could beat you after all?"

"You cheeky little _Fotz_ \- OH, COME ON!" 

He was now twelfth. Marco was eviscerating Mats for everything he had bragged about before, Jonas was laughing his ass off and Benni was struggling so  _hard_ not to make a dry comment. Toni was just feeling inexplicably proud.

"Und Hector hat gewonnen!" Jonas said, crossing the finish line. His laughter was so infectious even Jerome, who was still paralysed by embarrassment, and the sour looking Benni, who wasn't enjoying being on a plane, had to laugh heartily. "Vielleicht beim nächsten Mal, Mats."

Mats finished the race around twenty seconds later, all whilst throwing every bit of colourful language the Bonn region had to offer at Jonas. Although he wasn't really angry whatsoever (he was actually very happy that Jonas seemed more energetic and cheerful) athletes, especially footballers, were by nature very competitive and losing tended to make them very pissy.  You just had to look over at all the other games going on at the moment in the plane to see evidence of this.

"Everyone says he's such an  _angel,_ but look at the little fucker, grinning like a little demon," Mats said crossly to Jerome. "It was a clutch win. Nothing else. Flachwichser."

Jonas now looked a bit worried- that blissful few minutes of idle play had taken him out of his _people-pleaser_ mode, but now it had engaged again. He didn't know whether Mats was being serious. "I'm sor-"

"Cry us a fucking _river,_ Hummels, you big baby," Marco said dismissively, nobody hearing Jonas. "You, as per usual, got showed up. You're shit, Hector beat you, you got what was deserved. End of this thrilling and heart-warming story. Now, hand over that Switch, Jonas. It's time for Höwedes to get the same fate."

Jonas hurriedly handed over the console and Benni, who had initially been about to tell Marco where he could stick his controller, saw Mats' dejected form and decided perhaps hewould be able to replicate Jonas' feats in shutting up the fucking obnoxious too.

"Alright, Reus," he said softly. "Let's play a round, shall we?"

"Jeri, cover your ears, if you want to live," Marco said, as he took the Switch.  "Herne-West and the oranges aren't going to be the only thing in tatters when I'm done with you all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes mats is a nerd who plays mario kart but who fucking doesn't that's the real question  
> https://twitter.com/matshummels/status/950357197032173568?lang=en
> 
> games are a wonderful thing aren't they? seriously they can make u just hop into another world for a bit, playing sports, video games, anything, it's just a good form of escape. fun fact- athletes seriously ARE super competitive. i literally despise losing, and one of my teammates banned another teammate from coming to her house for a bit after she lost at uno :P
> 
> this was pretty much a bottle chapter but i had fun writing it, sometimes big group interactions are difficult to write so i don't know if i pulled it off. i am also a very tired human being. SOON we will be at the netherlands game!!!
> 
> OK IM GOING TO THE GAME NOW
> 
> thank you for reading!!!! <333


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 12!  
> amsterdam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus leute! 
> 
> i haaaate this chapter so omuch lol
> 
> rudi assauer died three days ago. it's really sad :( what a fucking iconic german legend he was <3333 such a huge character, may he RIP <3333
> 
> i don't really know how to open up this chapter other than to say enjoy this badly written nonsense!

The sky had slowly deepened in colour over the course of the plane journey, and when they finally landed in Amsterdam, it was dark. Jogi felt that this reflected his fucking mood at the moment- he had paid the price for his decision to force Benni and Marco to sit next to each other.

"If I'm ever in the starting lineup with this bastard, I won't play, I mean it!" Benni stormed to Mats, as the team stepped onto the ground. The miniature Mario Kart Revierderby hadn't been quite as uneven as Jonas and Mats' had been- in fact, Benni had been in first place for a long stretch of it. However, a combination of some rocky turbulence and illicit jostling by Marco had made Benni lose his concentration and his lead  _just_ as he was about to cross the finish line. "I'll just walk off the pitch!"

"Don't worry about silly things like  _that,_ Benedikt!" Marco cooed, from where he was almost strangling Mario in a headlock. "You would never be in the starting lineup in the first place!"

" _Neither_ of you will be in the starting lineup, if you keep up this behaviour!" Jogi told them both furiously. "But you  _will_ be in a hotel room together if you don't sort out your acts quickly!"

Marco's smug smile vanished as quickly as a goalscoring chance did when Alvaro Morata had the ball beneath his feet. Benni, in turn, looked utterly horrified.

"This wasn't meant to be happening to  _me_!" he yelled, stamping his foot and storming away. "Don't _touch_ me, Manuel Neuer!"

Manu had reached out to give Benni a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but Benni had dodged him at the last second, looking disgusted. 

"I hate Dortmund _too_ , man!" he called out exasperatedly after Benni. "I was literally  _born_ in Gelsenkirchen..."

"Good try, but nothing will reach him right now, mein Freund," Mats told Manu, as Benni flashed his middle finger at the goalkeeper. "He _really_ hates flying. That turbulence spooked the shit out of him."

Manu knew very well that Benni being exposed to his fears tended to make him as touchy and ready to lash out as Sami was when someone mentioned Olivier Giroud. His and Benni's friendship had involved a  _great_ many flights that had ended in fights, sulkiness and, of course, abject pettiness. But he also knew that to laugh about it while Benni was in such a towering temper would be a _very_ unwise idea. He kept his lips carefully sealed.

Lukas was rubbing his eyes and stretching behind the crowd of people ambling along the tarmac. He accepted the coat that Basti wrapped around his shoulders and gave his head a shake to clear it. He had slept all throughout the journey, even with all the yelling and chaos in the background.

"What- what- what'd I miss, baby?" he said through a huge yawn, dropping his head against his boyfriend's shoulder as Basti put an arm around him. It was chilly outside. "Why is Benni being pissy?"

"That's like asking why Marco is annoying. Benni is  _always_ pissy," Basti said amusedly. "But, to put it concisely, Marco cheated in a Mario Kart game, and there was turbulence, which you didn't even stir for. Even _I_ was scared by it."

A knowing look dawned on Lukas's face. " _Ah._ Was it like that one flight to Spain where he had a total freakout when the plane dipped?"

"Yep," Basti said. "No doubt that Marco's presence this time made things worse for him."

"Doesn't it always?" Lukas said wearily, and then he yawned yet again.

"Why are you so tired, Luki?" Basti asked amusedly, as they moved forwards to retrieve their suitcases. His lack of energy right now in comparison to what his usual behaviour was like was almost comical. "You just had a long nap."

"Ich habe keine Ahnung," Lukas sighed. "It's just one of those days." 

"One of those days, huh?" Basti said mischievously. "Basically, you're experiencing what it's like to be Fips all the time."

"Vielleicht. I fucking hate it."

Fips, from where he was miserably trailing behind Mesut and Sami, would have asserted that Lukas had no  _idea_ what it was like to be him. The right-back just needed some time for himself after that brutal Uno game on the flight. At first he thought he would get it, as the second they stepped off the plane Leon was  _instantly_ on his phone and texting somebody with more enthusiasm than he ever showed on the pitch, not paying Fips any heed. Unfortunately, the few moments of serenity he might have had were then interrupted by Leon and Kai's newfound enjoyment of bickering. Leon had finally stowed his phone away, and had decided to mock Kai's terrified yelp during the turbulence- and Kai in turn had brought up the time when Leon had made a similar noise after having been yelled at by Manu for a mistake in training. Julian was in the middle of it all, as per usual- but he was clearly taking Kai's side.

 _Wait..._ Fips thought.  _Don't tell me we're about to get the third reincarnation of Marco and... No, that thought is too fucking horrifying, Philipp. Put it out of your mind right now._

"My fucking God, Leno is annoying," Sami was grumbling, meanwhile. "All that shit he was spouting about Giroud and those training penalties, you'd think he wasn't with- _ow,_ what the fuck, Mes!"

Mesut had hit Sami very hard and very quickly. 

"You're so loud!" the number 10 said irritably. "Keep your voice down, everyone's going to hear you!"

"Why is that such a big issue for you?" Sami hissed back. "You were the one complaining about the lack of drama in the first place, now you're trying to actively prevent it!"

Mesut contemplated this. 

"We're being way too kind to them," Sami continued, gesturing vaguely over to where Marc-Andre and Bernd were with their respective friends. "They've been throwing so much disrespect on  _our_ names, yet they're still expecting us to guard their little secret for them."

"Yeah, but we don't just out people, Sami, that's a dick move," Mesut reprimanded him. 

"I'm not saying we  _out_ them," Sami assured him. "I'm not that much of a prick. I'm just saying, we could have a little fun at their expense. They certainly seem to have a lot at  _ours._ "

"They certainly seem to have a lot of what?" a voice spoke up from behind them. 

Mesut actually clutched his heart as Jerome appeared beside both of them, texting Robert with his phone in one hand and dragging his luggage along with the other. He and Sami exchanged a look before hastily trying to find the right words to say. 

"Arsenal certainly seem to have a lot of dead weight on their bench," Sami said finally. 

Mesut hit him again. Jerome just laughed.

"You're right on that one, Sami. I love Shkrodan, but." Jerome made a face that summed up the man's defensive ability. "Let's just say, Rob wouldn't have any problems getting past  _him._ Then again, Rob doesn't have problems getting past anyone that isn't me."

"Jesus Christ, shut up, Boateng," Sami told Jerome. "You and Lewandowski surpass levels of obnoxiousness. It's sickening."

"Look, Sami, mein Freund," Jerome sighed, awkwardly placing his phone in his pocket and then throwing an arm around the central midfielder's shoulders. "Jealousy isn't a good look. You could so easily have what I have, it's your own _fault_ you don't."

"Yeah, jealousy, right," Sami grumbled. "I'm fucking green over the fact that you're so clingy to Lewandowski that you can't function without mentioning how great he is at least once every ten minutes. I,  _mein Freund,_ am not in a weirdly codependent relationship."

"That's right. You're a loner," Jerome said serenely. "Both of you are."

Mesut gave Sami a friendly punch (though his definition of friendly was definitely a little loose). "Music to my ears."

"It shouldn't be," Jerome informed him. "You're blocking your minds off with that sort of mindset. You could be so happy with someone else by your side, if you just have the courage to look for them. It might be 'sickening' to imagine actually having someone there for you, and being there for them in turn, but, hey. Look at me. I used to be the most fucking shy and awkward person in the world, and look at me now I've been with Rob for all this time."

"You make it sound so easy. But look at what our lives are like, Jeri," Mesut said. "Things change so much and so quickly that by the time you grab onto some sort of feeling the opportunity could be gone for you, just like that. You could meet a nice girl in Bremen, talk to her for a few months, realise you love her and then end up moving to Madrid because of your job. You could play with the same teammate every day, fall in love with them, and then have them be knocked out of their career by an injury in one match. Or just look at fucking Reus and Götze, Jesus Christ, they're the perfect example, right there for you.There's too much uncertainty in shit like this."

Well. _That_ was unexpected.

The silence in the air that followed Mesut's words was almost painful, and the man didn't even realise it. Sami and Jerome were staring at him, but for very different reasons. For Jerome, this felt like a conversation that shouldn't have been happening on a casual walk with the rest of the team, because he suddenly understood  _everything._

"You're comfortable with how your life is now, right?" he asked softly.

Mesut shrugged. "Is comfortable the right word? I don't know. I'm  _familiar_ with how my life is now, at least somewhat, and that feeling makes me feel more secure. Love is a fucking weird concept for me, and don't make some witty joke about my club being loveless or something like that. I don't even know if I'm going to last at Arsenal til the end of this season, let alone know who I want to spend my life with. I just don't think this is the right time for me to... dwell, on shit like that. I focus on the now, and what I know, because the future, and the unknown... that shit is scary."

"It's that football mindset," Sami said quietly. "Don't think about what might happen beyond next week's game. Take things as they come."

"But it all leads to a bigger picture. The league, or the trophy," Jerome persisted, feeling a strange sense of urgency, of excitement. "I understand how you feel, Mesut, I really do. But the future, while scary, is actually so fucking important. You need to take risks. Acknowledge things. You can break out of your comfort zone and build a new one by grabbing onto opportunities. Forget fucking football, think about you as a person, about your  _life._ You've settled into this routine and you're scared of making things wobble, and I get that. But if you go against the odds and push you could end up being so, so happy-"

He was talking to Sami as well. The central midfielder was biting his lips, not looking at either of them, his face creased by a frown. This sight was  _beautiful_ for Jerome, he was  _thinking_ about what Jerome was saying-

Mesut, on the other hand, laughed at how serious Jerome looked. "There's nothing _to_ acknowledge yet, Jer, jeez. The only opportunity I can really think of taking right now is finding some other club to fuck off to, because clearly Unai has had enough of me-"

He lapsed into some vague talk about his club, and Sami, hesitantly, engaged. Jerome should have felt frustrated beyond belief that Mesut was diverting yet _again_ , but instead, he felt fucking  _tense._ It was the sort of feeling he got when he knew a game was on the brink of becoming something special, before a teammate took the shot that changed the scoreline. He _understood,_  now. Underestimating people was something he should have learned not to do from the day he became a professional footballer. Mesut and Sami weren't  _stupid,_  like the team all loved to suggest.They were  _scared._

This brief, sudden and yet extremely enlightening conversation, had totally thrown Jerome's thoughts off-track. He was so distracted he walked into Marco, as Mesut walked ahead, looking none the wiser to how much he had just scrambled his friend's head. The Dortmund captain gave him a quizzical look. 

"I know I've got a healing touch, but you don't need to  _barge_ into me, Jeri," he said. "What's up with you?"

"Nothing," Jerome said, whilst rummaging in his pocket for his phone. Marco rolled his eyes.

"Texting Lewandowski, as per fucking usual," he sighed. "I can already feel his ugliness floating through the air waves, clogging up my chest."

Jerome hummed, not really listening to a word he was saying. Marco rolled his eyes again.

Finally, they all assembled in one place. Thomas was surveying the group with a critical eye. Benni was still in a filthy mood, Sami and Jerome looked disconnected, Jonas and Lukas looked shattered, Fips was glaring at Julian and Kai, and Leon was once again hooked to his phone, having disengaged from the scene around him. Maybe it was time for a boost in morale.

"Why don't we all get dinner?" he called out. "We're in Amsterdam, let's all hang out. Look around the city, even. Let's not just flock to the hotel straight away."

There was a mixed reaction to his words. Benni just folded his arms and scowled. Jonas worked hard to make his face neutral- he was so fucking  _tired,_ he simply could not be bothered to interact with people right now. The young ones, including Kai, seemed happy with this suggestion. Miro shrugged. He wanted to have a little chat with Manu, anyway, so he didn't mind. 

"Come on, you're killing me here, people," Thomas sighed, at the lukewarm reception to his offer. "I'm going to use my veto power as the team's vice-vice-vice captain to say we're going to do it. That's okay, right, Jogi?"

"You're asking me like you'll respect anything I say anyway," Jogi said dryly. "You can do it, but I have one rule- no drinking."

Thomas groaned.

"Bad luck, Hummels," Marco called. Mats looked at him warily. "It looks like you're not going to get Höwedes in the mood today either... not that he's ever in the mood, I wouldn't be if I played for Herne-West either."

Manu sighed, Mats closed his eyes, and Benni, so close to the edge already, exploded.

***

_Private chat between Toni Kroos and Jessica Farber_

**Toni:** Hi, we're all eating out right now

 **Toni:** Is Leon awake? Jeri is here too

 **Toni:** Can you call

 **Jessica:** can u STOP trying to guilt trip me yes he is awake but only because he had a nap at 6 o clock but once again hes going to sleep soon

 **Toni:** I'm not guilt tripping, Jess

 **Toni:** *Coughimthemoreresponsibleparentcough*

 **Jessica:** the strawberry ice cream incident

 **Toni:** Jesus Christ touche

 **Jessica:** remember ur place, kroos

 **Jessica:** i'll call

_Incoming call from Jessica Farber._

Jerome almost knocked his fork onto the floor when he saw Leon appear on Toni's phone screen, after Jessica waved at Toni. The man had been texting Robert almost religiously about something he wasn't telling Toni about, his plate of food going completely ignored, but the sight of his honourary little nephew distracted him at once. Jonas, who was trying not to drop off as he politely listened to Marco and Mario's debate about whether Marco should get an eyebrow piercing, smiled to himself as he saw how both Toni and Jerome brightened up instantly.

"Leon!" Jerome said joyfully, leaning over towards Toni and waving at the beaming little boy, who seemed to be curled up on a sofa. "My little bro!"

Leon Goretzka, who was smiling down at his phone  _again_ (he had barely taken his eyes off it since he had stepped off the plane, to the annoyance of Fips), looked up at the sound of his name and looked around in confusion. Fips rolled his eyes as the man just returned to his phone when he received no explanation for it.

Leon waved his little hand. "Hallo, Uncle Jerome! Hallo, Papa!"

"Hallo, little lion," Toni said fondly. "How are you? Guess where I am, now?"

"Ich bin  _gut,_ " Leon said, still waving and giggling as Jerome made a goofy face at him. "Are you in... Deutschland?"

"Ne, ne," Jerome said. "We're in a place  _worse_ than Deutschland, Leon. It's a bad football land. Do you remember what I told you about die Orangen? What country is that from?"

"Die Orangen?" Leon said. His thumb came to his mouth and he looked contemplative. Toni gave him an encouraging look. "Is it... Italien?"

"Ne!" Jerome laughed. "But close. Italian football is bad, too. I'll help you-where is Arjen Robben from?"

"Bald Bayern player," Toni reminded his son. "His head is shiny."

Leon's face brightened. "Die Niederlande?"

"Wahey!" Jerome said, giving Leon a little round of applause. "Gut gemacht, I knew you had it in you. We're in Amsterdam right now, eating dinner."

"I had dinner too," Leon informed the two men. "It was spaghetti." 

Jerome pretended to look horrified, making Leon giggle. Jessica's head poked into the camera.

"He ' _had'_ dinner," she said delicately. "As in, he knitted the spaghetti for about an hour with his knife and fork and ate around one meatball before saying, _Mama, I have a stomach ache, I can't eat anymore!_ "

Leon grinned slyly, evidently under the impression he was a great actor.

"That's just your cooking, Jess, it'd put anyone off," Toni teased. Jess covered Leon's eyes with one hand and flipped him off with the other. "But Leon, you should be eating all your food, not playing with it. Otherwise you won't be able to come to die Niederlande and see me play, will you?"

Leon mumbled something incoherently in a manner starkly reminsicient to the way members of the team did when they were being petulant after having been scolded. It made Jerome throw his head back and laugh, what did that say about their team? Were they really all a group of overgrown children?

"Is Jonas there?" Leon asked, both so he could avoid getting told off and because he was curious.

Toni was surprised for a brief second that Leon could still remember Jonas after only a short conversation on the phone whilst he had been sleepy. He was pleased, however, and turned the camera towards the left-back, who had actually fallen asleep as Marco's new insistences he would look good with  _any_ sort of facial alteration grew more vehement. 

"Jonas, Leon wants to say hi to you," Toni said loudly, to wake him up. Jerome snorted as Jonas' elbow slipped off the table in his shock.

The left-back went scarlet and pushed his glasses up his face quickly, his flustered movement almost making him hit Marco, who hadn't actually noticed that he had lost his audience.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Jonas gasped. "I- I fell asleep! Sorry, Marco! What's going on?"

"Leon," Toni laughed, pointing to his son, who giggled at his nervousness and waved shyly. "He's saying hi."

Jonas blinked, and then he turned even more red. "Oh, I'm sorry, Leon! Hi! Wie geht's?"

"Gut," Leon mumbled. Marco leaned right over Jonas to get into the camera, waving at Leon.

"Hey, kiddo!" he called. Leon went even more shy. "Do  _you_ think I'd look good with an eyebrow piercing?"

" _Nein,"_ both Mario and Jerome mouthed, trying to instruct Leon on what to say. Marco gave him a smack. Toni laughed at his son's conflicted expression. 

"Ja," Leon said finally, going against the peer pressure, to Marco's delight. He made a high-five gesture towards the camera, and Leon reciprocated. Mario and Jerome pretended to be disappointed.

"I'll get you sweets when you come, you're more clever than everyone here," Marco said. "I'll also get you a really big chocolate bar if you say,  _Herne-West are schei- bad._ "

"Herne-West are bad," Leon said at once, the bribe having instantly removed any shy hesitancy. Marco gave him the thumbs-up and winked.

Jerome rolled his eyes. "I'll get you a  _bigger_ chocolate bar if you say, Dortmund won't win the Bundesliga, little Leo."

This sentence was a little too long for Leon, who looked puzzled. Marco laughed as Jerome's own bribe backfired, and then started wrestling Jonas and Mario underneath his arms for no real reason, crowing about the fact a two year old had agreed with him, as if this decided the whole eyebrow piercing debate. Toni went back to talk to Jessica about her and Leon's flight to the Netherlands and Jerome returned to his phone again.

_Private chat between Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng_

**Robert:** See I told you all along

 **Robert:** It's not gonna be that easy to push them to get together, they're not completely blind

 **Robert:** Mesut and Sami have gotten themselves in a position where they're happy and friends and messing with that might end badly

Jerome looked up from his phone with his chin resting in his hand to cast a glance at the two of them now. They seemed to look pretty normal, Mesut teasing Benni about something to do with Schalke and Sami laughing with Mats about some event from a few years ago. But it was that normalcy that pained Jerome. They were so in sync, and yet so afraid that the simple act of acknowledging they loved each other would ruin something between them, even if they weren't aware of it. But they didn't realise there was so much  _potential,_ too.

 **Jerome:** yeah but don't u see that it's limiting them

 **Jerome:** i totally get what mesut was saying but he's gotta get over his fears otherwise he'll never go anywhere

 **Jerome:** sami does too, it's a part of life 

 **Robert:** But Mesut knows that

 **Robert:** His point was, he deals with it enough already, he doesn't need more of it

 **Jerome:** but they're dealing with the consequences of it rob

 **Jerome:** it all makes so much sense

 **Jerome:** sami's hatred of giroud, he feels like he's losing his best friend and what he was comfortable with to someone far away from him, and now it might actually impact their friendship because they fucking refsuse to accept that the reason hes so angry is because he loves mesut 

 **Jerome:** we've gotta try and help them

 **Robert:** And how are you going to do that Jeri? You can't force people to come to realisations

 **Robert:** This whole saga hurts my brain Jesus I feel like I've said the same thing 800 times

 **Jerome:** u tellin  me

He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. God, it was too late to think about Mesami. They made him want to scratch his head until he got to his brain. He leaned against Toni's shoulder to chat to Leon again, deciding that when he was feeling more alert, he would think more about what he could do to help.

Meanwhile, Miro was watching Manu talk with the group with a strange feeling of warmth inside of him. The goalkeeper had seemed to be in a fairly good mood so far, having laughed at Benni's moodiness and having chipped in to tease Mario, but what Miro noticed was that he seemed to be a lot less... edgy, than he had been, the last time Miro had seen him. That wasn't to say that he looked entirely okay, sometimes he dropped out of the conversation for a few moments to stare into space, but it was a definite improvement and Miro was _proud_ of him.

"So, Manu," he said, leaning forwards. The goalkeeper started out of a momentary reverie and smiled at him. "Feeling confident for the game?"

"Feeling confident? I always feel confident," Manu said, winking at Miro. "I've got no reason not to be. If we got through France, we can get through the fucking  _Netherlands._ "

Miro laughed. "I imagine facing off Arjen Robben will be difficult for you, though, no?"

"As fucking  _if._ I know how my boy Arjen scores. Cut into the box, left foot, there it is. The same thing every time, in training, too. If anything, I'm probably the best keeper in the world suited to dealing with him," Manu said with feigned cockiness, puffing up his chest and accidentally hitting Thomas on the shoulder as he flung his arms out dramatically. "Oops, sorry Thommy. But no, really, I'm pretty  sure Arjen is smart enough to know not to score against me."

"And why is that?"

"Because he knows I'd never forgive him," Manu laughed, and Miro did too. "But we've been studying the way the Netherlands' forwards shoot, and I have an encyclopedic knowledge of which way their penalty takers go. We're safe. As long as  _some_ people actually back me up in the game."

He gave Mats a pointed look from where he was talking to Benni about something or another. The central defender noticed his gaze, looked around and looked a little spooked when he saw Manu was staring at him.

"I never doubted our safety, especially with you in between the sticks," Miro chuckled. "I'm glad to see you're feeling motivated, though, Manu."

"Yeah," Manu said softly. "I feel more at peace, now."

He lowered his voice. "Having Hugo there as an option, knowing I'm not caving in... it makes me feel better. I don't want to let things get out of hand. I'm a goalkeeper, right? Stopping things from going wrong is part of my job description. Yeah, I know it's not going to be easy. You can't always be optimistic. But it's something."

"Something is better than nothing, so they say," Miro said quietly. "I can't express how proud I am of you, Manu. In your position, I would have been terrified out of my mind. It was easy for Thomas and I to stand as outsiders and tell you what we thought you should do. What wasn't easy was you deciding for yourself that you wanted to find help."

"Gotta be there for my club and country," Manu said softly, touching his chest. "I can't let things slip in my career because of pride and fear."

"Can't let things slip for  _you,_ " Miro corrected him. 

"Ja. And that. It _would_ be nice for me if I got a happy and healthy night's sleep, to be fucking honest. That's one advantage of this whole therapy thing," Manu snorted. "Can you imagine the scenes? Manuel Neuer slips under the covers, Manuel falls asleep, Manuel Neuer has a  _good dream?_ Maybe some sort of dream where I keep a clean sheet throughout every game in the Champions League, or something? The very thought of that makes me feel alive. I can't wait to get started."

Miro knew Manu was joking, but he also heard a tinge of hope in the man's voice that made him feel even warmer.  _He meant what he was saying._

"Or you could live out a happy _reality,_ where you assist me on the pitch again," Miro offered. Manu nodded thoughtfully.

"An assist, a clean sheet, and a world-class save is on my checklist for the match. Goretzka!" Manu shouted suddenly. Leon's distraction did not extend to Manu calling his name and he looked up in alarm at once. "You'd better score in the right direction, d'you hear me? If I don't get a clean sheet, well-  _fire and brimstone,_  comes to mind.."

Leon looked despairing.

"Oh, come on, Manu, it was  _one time,_ " he said miserably. "Don't tell me I have a reputation for own goal-scoring now."

"You have a reputation for being incompetent and irritating," Benni informed Leon. "Who the hell have you been texting so eagerly this whole time? Bayern's board, telling them you want to go to Lüdenscheid-Nord this time?

Leon looked at his former captain and rolled his eyes. Fips' eyes had also turned to Leon. 

"Do you think _that_ lowly of me, Benni? Jesus Christ, they should keep you away from people with open wounds, you _are_ worse than fucking Marco," he said. "And you know, I do have some friends outside of you guys.  _Not_ that I'd call you my friends anyway."

"Thank God," Joshua called over. Leon gave him an absolutely scathing look and returned his gaze to his screen. When Fips tried to pluck it from his hands and get him to be social, Leon raised it out of the captain's reach.

Thomas cackled as Fips' mouth fell open. Leon realised his mistake at once and raised his arms to shield himself as Fips picked up his fork. 

"I wasn't making fun of your height, Fips!" he cried. 

Only because it was a public fucking restaurant, and because he was meant to be better than the rest of them all, Fips lowered himself into his seat again. 

Kai had been about to make a comment about Leon, when a thought occurred to him just as he was about to open his mouth and say it. He turned towards Bernd very suddenly and hit him on the shoulder.

Bernd choked on his drink. "What was that for, Kai?"

"We're in a new hotel!" Kai said emphatically. "We should be able to switch roommates, right?"

 _Shit._ Bernd looked at Kai's encouraging expression- the boy evidently thought he had just done Bernd a favour by reminding him of this fact. He didn't panic, however- he cast a glance over to where Marc-Andre was laughing with Leroy, and then over to Marco, who he knew would back him up. He also knew nobody would let them switch anyway.

He stood up, picking up a glass and plucking Julian's fork straight from his hand. He tapped the fork against the glass.

Everyone looked at him, Jonas, having dozed off once more, jolting awake in his seat.

"Everyone!" Bernd said. "As we're in a new hotel-"

Marco caught on at once. "Absolutely not. Don't even try it. Rooming arrangements still stand."

"But-"

"Sit back down, Leno," Mario shouted. 

 _Nice,_ Bernd thought, as Marc-Andre gave a theatrical groan and Kai patted his shoulder glumly. _Turns out the team can be a blessing sometimes after all._

***

_Private chat between Leon Goretzka and Serge Gnabry_

**Serge:** this is what iwas talking about

 **Serge:** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hCzdUNTKapY

 **Serge:**  i know this has become a meme but if im being honest his flow is actually ok, his beat is half decent

 **Serge:** but his lyrics r TRASH tho i can't lie

 **Serge:** i just had to laugh when i watched it, is that mean? probbly

 **Serge:** don't tell jeri lol omg idk if he's the type to get overdefensive over his brother after all the ghana/ballack drama tho lol

 **Serge:** leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeoooooooooooooooo??

 **Serge:** r u still heeere

 **Serge:** i just looked at the time and it is like 12 and weve been messaging for so long u probably got bored of me and fell asleep plus u had a flight os u must be tired

 **Serge:** have good dreams my midfielder buddy :D

 **Leon:** omg nooooooo sergi come back

 **Leon:** i'm here now don't worry!!!

 **Leon:** fips was jsut being fyucking annoying and he took my phone and told me i had to be social bc i was tExTiNg tOo mUcH

**Leon:**

**Leon:** but im here now in bed here to talk 

 **Leon:** OMG so i heard KPBs song and i was like "no way did he fucking go and make music" and i heard it and i just withered away honestly

 **Leon:** hes such a fucking paradoxical human being i feel like he shouldnt exist sometimes

 **Serge:** :))

 **Serge:** fips doesnt fuckin understand that uve been dragging me out of the depths of despair that is injury recovery

 **Serge:** the man has travelled from tottenham hotspur to dortmund to portsmouth to milan to las palmas to eintracht to sassuolo to schalke such a career path is onlt befitting of a chaotic presence

 **Leon:** :D

 **Leon:** fips doesn't understand ANYTHING

 **Leon:** and wtf serge how the frick frack did u remember all of those transfers

 **Leon:** u can't even remember where u left ur boots in the changing room

 **Serge:** don't come for me goretzka

 **Serge:** KPB is one of those peepole that leaves a mark on u ok

 **Leon:** peepole

 **Serge:** STOP it my typos dont define me as a human being

 **Serge:** my fingers SLIP when i type too fast

 **Leon:** what was it again

 **Leon:** cooffe

 **Leon:** jermo baotong

 **Leon:**  realvalladodolid

 **Leon:** the trifecta

 **Serge:** bye

 **Serge:** i dont come here for this disrespect

 **Leon:** dont u love it when u get scored on by valladodolid, the madmen

 **Serge:** :(

 **Leon:** :)

 **Serge:** :(

 **Leon:** :)

 **Serge:** :(

 **Leon:** :(

 **Serge:** :)

 **Serge:** wait what

**Leon:**

****

**Leon:** bamboozled 

 **Serge:** fuck ur good 

 **Serge:** 4D chess mein freund

 **Leon:** only the best from me

 **Leon:** i just fuckin hope jogi feels the same way lmao

 **Serge:** has he given any subliminal hints about who might be starting

 **Leon:** bold of you to assume jogi tells us anything

 **Leon:** i feel like bene and marco might start just to spite them both into putting on a good performance together

 **Serge:** niklas behind benni, mats and jerome:

**Serge:**

**Serge:** i think u should start leo

 **Serge:** u were POPPING before the international break

 **Serge:** four goals in three matches!!!

 **Serge:** you always pop tho 

 **Leon:** awwwwww no YOU r on the form of ur life at the moment sergi

 **Leon:** i doubt i'll start tho lol honestly, i'll have a bench spot esp because of toni and basti and sami and mesut

 **Serge:** wings?

 **Leon:** nah definitely not unless we get a multitude of injuries in a day, marco, leroy, the julians

 **Leon:** wait did i say leroy would be starting? silly me.

 **Leon:** i think thomas will be behind miro so marco/mesut will be in the centre

 **Leon:** who fucking knows tho

 **Serge:** and there's mario too

 **Serge:** götze i mean

 **Serge:** :( u deserve a starting spot leo

 **Leon:** i'll take anything tbh im just happy to be here

 **Leon:** u should be here tho :(

 **Serge:** please tell my fyucking thigh that

 **Serge:** it's not even letting me sleep it hurts that much :(

 **Leon:** if u were here wohlfahrt would probably make it worse so take that small grain of comfort

 **Serge:** i'll take being here with james i guess, tho hes getting all pissy again

 **Serge:** he threw a spoon at me yesterday and called me a bean head because his leg was hurting

 **Leon:** he's getting closer to the edge 

 **Leon:** speaking of getting closer to the edge fips just fucking threw a pillow at me and told me to go to sleep b/c training >:((((

 **Leon:** i think,, i have to go :'(

 **Serge:** :( fips is,,, too much

 **Serge:** auf wiedersehen leo, it was super nice talking to u again today bc ive been out of my mind with boredom

 **Serge:** i'll send u twitter memes so when u wake up u can see them and be motivated for training!!

 **Serge:** talk to you tomorrooww? x

 **Leon:** ja natürlich!!  i'll give jermo baotong your love

 **Leon:** and yes do it that'd fuel me to put up performances befitting of a start in an alltime legends game

 **Leon:** talk to you tomorrow x 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again i hate this chapbut i just have to post it at htis point
> 
> about benni's fear of flying, guess who has one too? that's right, this bitch. also can we reality rule the length of that flight, it takes like 40 mins to get to amsterdam from germany lol not a few hours but yknow
> 
> love opening up yet another storyline *sigh* leon, i've been neglecting you, you sexy footballer you, welcome to the shitshow. actually a super cute shitshow this time tho  
> http://pbs.twimg.com/media/CxTkEGCXEAAA1vB.jpg
> 
> https://twitter.com/LoyleCarner/status/1066982488206123010 this tweet lost me
> 
> thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!!! <333


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 13!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> netherlands game will be next chapter, i S W E A R.
> 
> this is a badly structured and paced chapter and author's note i am so disengaged rn. you guys dont really need to know how i feel about this stupid chapter lol, you already know

It was ten in the morning, and so they were supposed to be at breakfast for the final training day. Marco, however, had stormed into the bathroom after getting dressed, claiming that he had a phone call to make. Mario had flopped down to wait in front of the TV with a shrug, having expected the call to be a brief conversation- but he ended up waiting for around twenty minutes. He couldn't hear anything Marco was saying, but _could_ hear that Marco was speaking agitatedly.

A few minutes into the call, Marco threw open the bathroom door and shouted, "God, how fucking loud is that TV, Mario?"

"Sorry, baby. I'll turn it down," Mario said calmly. He reached for the remote and lowered the volume. Marco closed the door again without a word and returned to his conversation.

This discretion naturally made Mario feel uneasy- Marco clearly didn't want Mario to hear what he was talking about. But he knew that to expect to receive answers immediately would be somewhat hypocritical of him, because he had been secretive in his time as well... It would be best to just wait until Marco felt comfortable with talking to him.

" _Immer der gleiche Scheiß_ _!_ " Marco suddenly yelled out in the bathroom, making Mario jump out of his skin. " _Yeah, I know! Am I stupid? What? No! But then I'd never be out there!"_

There was silence. Or maybe Marco was talking quietly again, so Mario couldn't hear him. And then:

 _"That's what Braun said to me last season. You said that yourself. It's been_ fine _so far. And now it's started up again, fucking Christ-"_

Worry overtook him, Mario couldn't help himself, he strained his ears. Marco had lowered his voice, but it was clear he could not control his irritation and it kept rapidly rising. 

" _No,_ _I don't want to! How much fucking time have I wasted already?_ " Marco's voice flared in volume again. " _Oh, my God, I can manage it, I've dealt with it before,_   _l_ _ass mich in ruh!"_

Then there was silence. Mario waited for a minute or so, and then winced as the door opened very rapidly and Marco strode out into the room. His boyfriend's face was very red, but his expression was neutral. He looked at Mario, and then away from him.

"Sorry about that. Let's go down to breakfast," he said. His tone was so flat it couldn't have been anything but forced. This rapid change from frustration almost gave Mario whiplash, but he wasn't even going to try and poke Marco to find out what the hell that call had been about, because he knew he was going to receive absolutely nothing from his boyfriend right now. He just smiled uncomfortably and stood up, resting a hand on Marco's shoulder that didn't receive a solitary glance as they left their room.

They weren't the only ones late downstairs, surprisingly- Mario Gomez and Miro also took a long time to appear. That morning, after waking up, Mario had immediately disappeared into the bathroom for so long that Miro had ended up banging on the man's door, asking him if he was still alive. The door had flung open a second later, and Mario had poked his head out, looking flustered.

"Sorry, I totally fucking lost my train of thought, I zoned out!" the man yelped. "We're so fucking late, Jesus, you didn't have to wait up for me, Miro-"

"Of course I did," Miro sighed, throwing an arm around his friend's shoulder, as Mario stumbled and stammered. "Otherwise you would've been in there forever."

Jogi was not impressed when the two of them arrived after Marco and Mario. He had just finished lecturing the two midfielders, Marco clearly not listening to a word he was saying and Mario looking sheepish, and the arrival of Miro and Mario irritated him even more.

"It is the last training day before the match, this behaviour is unacceptable!" he snapped. "I expected better from you, Miroslav, though Gomez, I didn't expect anything from you at all. We need to be even sharper today, understood? This is our last chance for preparation until we face a much-improved Netherlands side tomorrow! This isn't a joke fixture! All four of you will be running an extra lap for your poor punctuality!"

This was fair. Miro nodded and apologised and the Marios followed suit. Jogi didn't even bother trying to get an apology out of Marco.

"Are you alright, mein Freund?" Thomas asked, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder when Marco dropped into the seat next to him. Club animosity didn't matter to Thomas off of the pitch, and, having a same level of chaotic energy as the man, they had always got along as pure equals. It was for that reason Marco didn't shake him off.

"I am as I always am, Thomas," Marco said calmly to his plate. "Above the bullshit." 

"That's one way to put it," Jerome murmured. Thomas noticed Marco's tone hadn't exactly been his usual shade of haughty, however, and he was strangely flushed.

"Come on, kopf hoch, Junge," he said encouragingly, slapping Marco on the back. "It's the last day before we get to show up the Netherlands, we've got to really up the ante for this one. It'll be your first match playing against them ever, too! It's the next step in your international comeback, you've got one goal already in the Nations League. You're flying!"

Marco looked at Thomas, then looked at Jerome, who now was now smiling at him, his eyes saying,  _he's right._ He then went to get a slice of bread.

A pleasurable sort of tension lingered in the air when the team went out to start training for the last time before their first game- it was showing in the sudden outbreak of competitive spirit. Kai, Leon and Leroy raced each other fiercely during the warm-up laps- well, Kai and Leon were racing, really, as Leroy was of course, in first place again. The race to second was hot, though, and poor Julian, despite being very speedy himself, couldn't be part of it. So he settled for the race to fourth with the other Julian instead. Niklas and Joshua gave each other one look and knew that there was no point joining their friends in  _this_ competition, so they decided to take things... at their own pace. Several metres behind.

Benni jogged with Jonas, pleased to be with a quiet presence after the turbulent night he had had last night, while Mats jogged with Toni and Jerome, who were in serious discussion over tactics. Mario was in between Bernd and Marc-Andre, apparently out of a need for a peacekeeper, as Bernd kept making fun of Marc-Andre's voice cracks (he had a sore  _throat),_  but also because he could sense Marco didn't want to talk right now.Fips, Basti and Lukas were talking about a new drama that had arisen in the 2.Bundesliga with Timo Horn's contract that Fips had learned about, whilst making sure Jonas was well out of earshot, and at the back of the group, Marco jogged alongside Manu, Thomas, Miro and Mario Gomez in silence.

"If Luan and Noah saw me in this condition on the pitch!" Miro panted, as they reached a bend in the track. "Good Lord, they'd be disappointed."

"Nobody is  _ever_ disappointed in you, least of all your kids," Mario told him, going red and scratching his nose. "You're not that slow, Opa, really, you're a thirty six year old against all these twenty-somethings who want to prove their dominance, you're not going to look like Usain Bolt. Besides, you look like a track athlete against Per."

Although Per was a sweetheart, making slow jokes about him was somewhat like making short jokes against Fips- if the giant had been with them right now, Mario would have been eviscerated. But seeing as Per  _wasn't_ here, Miro had permission to laugh his ass off, a little wildly, purely because he rarely got such indulgence. 

"I used to be so fast," he said, once he had stopped laughing. "I could keep up with Mikey in a footrace, but nobody believes that, now."

"You could keep up with  _Michael?_ " Mario laughed in disbelief, proving Miro's point. "When I got here, Michael was slowing down so you could keep up."

"Libel and lies," Miro said crossly, but he also felt a bit warm inside. "Did he... _tell_ you he slowed down for me?"

"Yep. He also told me other embarrassing things about you, actually, I've always been meaning to ask you about them. He told me about the time you did a front flip off of the bed and into your suitcase when drunk, is that-"

"There's no need to go into that!" Miro said hastily, his cheeks heating up. "That man has _some_  nerve _,_ there's a multitude of things I could tell you about  _him-_ "

"Really?" Mario asked, looking at Miro expectantly for answers. "Like what?"

"Uhm," Miro said, going even more red as he saw Mario's curious expression. "He sang when he showered. Before he knew I could hear him, he used to sing all these pop songs and you could hear when he knocked down his shampoo bottles by mistake because he would cut himself off mid-song to swear like a sailor, before just going on like it never happened. When he found out I could hear him, because I made fun of him for it, he started singing opera and making up lyrics about me."

Mario started laughing. " _Michael?_ _Singing?_ I've never heard that in my life. I thought he was all about the _authoritarian captain vibe..._ "

"Oh, yes," Miro murmured. "Though this was before he was captain." 

_When they started dating, the lyrics Michael made up were... somewhat crude. Miro would turn a more impressive shade of red than Jupp Heynckes when he heard them and would bang on the bathroom door, yelling at his boyfriend, "shut up, shut up, you're so annoying!". Michael would then respond by inviting him into the shower._

_After they had broken up, Miro never heard Michael sing so much as a note again._

"What  _is_ going on with Michael, these days?" Thomas asked thoughtfully. "I haven't heard about him at all, recently."

Miro blinked out of his reverie. "He's... He's fine, he's a studio analyst with ZDF for the Nations League. I think he's going to be with them for the Euros, too, b-but I don't really know-"

"Oh, shit, yeah, I forgot he does punditry with Oli sometimes. I haven't talked the man properly since the last fucking Euros, though, to be fair," Thomas said. "Not that he talked to me much in the first place anyway, I always got the feeling he didn't really like me, even though we started off okay. He seemed pretty cold all throughout the 2010 Weltmeisterschaft."

"Anyone would be, in his position, Thommy," Manu said fairly, as Miro floundered. He gave half a glance at Marco, who was staring ahead. "I don't think he'd be feeling too hot watching his teammates go far in the tournament without him. And after the shitshow following that... Well, all I'm saying is, I don't think it's personal. It was really nice of him to come with us for moral support in the first place."

"Yeah, I guess. I was just saying, he never seemed to be too fond of me. He didn't seem to like Mesut or Toni either."

Manu shrugged. "You were three talented young midfielders who took his place in the national team and took Germany to the semi-finals. Journalists were saying maybe his injury was a blessing in disguise because you guys got to replace him.  Wouldn't you feel a little aggrieved too?"

"Shit, yeah, I guess. Poor guy. At least we didn't actually win the Cup without him, that would've been salt in a wound!" Thomas said in a falsely jaunty voice. Then he winced as Manu gave him a fierce look. "Shit, sorry, Marco."

"Ask me if I give a fuck," Marco said, shrugging.

Mario noticed that Miro was looking seriously uncomfortable. Of course, it probably sucked for Miro to reminisce on the drama that had pretty much severed his best friend's international career. Plus, this conversation was going along a route that was liable to genuinely upset Marco, too. He changed the subject.

"Hey, Manu, Ronnie asked me to ask you about something to do with gloves," he said, rooting through his mind for something to talk about, and settling on Ron-Robert's request over text... that had come around four days ago. Well, at least he remembered now. "He asked about your manufacturer, have your straps ever caused a wrinkle at the top of the ring finger, or something like that..."

Manu's eyes lit up at once as they always did when goalkeeping gloves were mentioned. Thomas rolled his eyes heartily as Manu went off on a spiel about glove-tightening and grip and the benefits of latex to prevent wrinkles, whilst Mario looked a bit overwhelmed and Miro and Marco got a break to retreat into their thoughts.

When they finished their jog (Marco was walking by the end of his), Jogi called them all together. After their circuits, wind sprints and leg-lifts they would be working on defending set pieces and would then be going into a practice game. Throughout the first few days of training they had been working on aspects of defence, had been doing shooting drills and the attack had been pushed particularly hard about getting through de Ligt, van Dijk and the likes. It was time to get serious, Jogi told them. No messing around today.

Fips just had to laugh.

They were unsure as of yet who would definitively be making it into the starting lineup tomorrow, so this actually _was_ a chance to make a good impression on Jogi. The striker would probably be Miro, as per usual, and Thomas's good string of performances recently meant that he would also most likely make the cut, along with Toni and Basti. Manu was a cert, as was Jerome and Fips, but the real curiosity lay in the defensive situation. 

Although literally everybody would have told him otherwise, Jonas was seriously doubting he had been playing well enough to start tomorrow, even though he was the natural left-back for the team. There was every chance Benni could be starting at left-back instead of him, unless Jogi started him as Jerome's partner instead, because Mats had been floundering slightly recently due to viral issues. His nervousness was actually completely unfounded, he had actually been playing very well, but of course he wasn't thinking that. He was contemplating hard upon tiny mistakes he had made.

Toni observed this nervousness as they all jogged into place for the training match, following their set-piece defense drills. Jonas had cleared a sharp header from Miro very nicely, actually earning him a call of praise from Manu, but Jonas had looked at the goalkeeper in disbelief, rather than gratitude. He was twisting his hands now, his eyes sweeping around quickly before returning to the turf beneath him.

"That really _was_ a good clearance, Jonas," Toni told him.

Jonas blushed. "Vielen dank, Toni. But it was more of a gamble than something intentional. I had to rush to get there, because I misjudged his run."

"So it was a good reaction," Toni said patiently.  Jonas shrugged.

"Yeah, well... One good manouevre for ten mistakes isn't how I want to play," he said. He sounded almost bitter. And then- "Sorry, that was... Just, thank you, Toni!"

"Don't hit me with the bullshit, Jonas, you're not making that many mistakes. None that I've noticed, anyway," Toni said in amazement. "You've actually been looking really confident."

_Of course I'm fucking confident- in the moment. I'm on top of the world when I'm in motion, the game is all instinctive to me, but the second I'm not moving I have time to think about everything I've done wrong. It's fine when I'm in a game, because that's ninety minutes of disengagement, but it's different in training, or once I'm off the pitch._

"Danke," he said. "That's kind of you. You're amazing too..."

Jogi split the group up into teams with a rotating sub system. Bernd stood on the sidelines with Kai, watching Marc-Andre in front of his goal. His boyfriend (Jesus, he needed to stop giving himself cardiac arrest whenever he thought of  _that_ word) was leaning against the post, looking oddly sexy as his teammates did  _schnick, schnack, schnuck_ to decide who was going to get the ball first. Eventually, Jogi realised Lukas and Basti, the opposing team captains, were deliberately doing  _schnick, schnack, schnuck_ for overly long to delay, and he ended up throwing a ball at Basti and yelling at him to start.

Mario gave Bernd a look as the man put him in a headlock and rested his chin on his head. "What'd you want, fool?"

"Nothing," Bernd said, hugging his smaller friend before releasing him and looking contemplative. "Just, Reus isn't moving very much, is he?"

Marco was behind Miro as Basti passed it to him, but he did not run forwards to make himself available for a pass. His team were all moving forwards, making their way to the opposite goal, but he wasn't rushing to follow them, either. Mario bit on his thumbnail.

"Fucking hell, Reus, do you want to run or do you want to lounge around?" Mats demanded, actually being on the same team as him this time. Marco gave him a filthy look and broke into a jog to join the action.

Basti was holding the ball and was streaking up to the opposing box, Thomas there with him to free up some space if he needed another option to pass to. This proved to be valuable- Basti lobbed the ball over to him in a pass that  _nearly_ got intercepted by Jonas, but Thomas collected it just in time, and made a really nice run forwards.  Miro was in a good position in the box, but Manu came out to collect Thomas's cross.

" _Excellent_ work, Müller," Jogi called. "A great run forwards. Hector, bad luck with your timing. Reus, push further up, you're lingering too far behind."

Thomas pretended to faint. Jonas apologised to Manu for missing the tackle- Manu waved it off. Marco jogged forwards.

Leon was on Manu's side, and he almost cringed as Manu gave him a pointed look as he threw the ball out. When the midfielder cast his glance out to the grinning Joshua on the opposite side, he solemnly resolved to himself that this was  _not_ going to be a repeat of the bullshit from what was now dubbed the 'OGTFU- Own Goal Training Fuck Up'. Indeed, he surged forwards and dribbled around Sami, who looked annoyed, and passed to Mesut, who worked around Mats but had to pass backwards to Jerome rather than forwards to Lukas because Niklas was in his way.

It was now that everyone was reminded that Mats was indeed the slow centre-back- Jerome outpaced him quite easily, calling for laughter and jokes to be thrown about about Messi that had Jerome snarling. He placed a really nice pass to Jonas, but the only problem was Jonas was being marked. 

This didn't matter, however. Jonas managed to keep control of the ball even whilst under immense pressure from Niklas and did an inch-perfect back pass to Leon. Such maneouvres were difficult to pull off even without being hassled so hard, and yet he made it look easy, whether it was intentionally or not. There were cheers from his teammates, but Jonas wasn't even paying attention, he was watching Leon in the box-

"Toll!" Jogi called, as Joshua laughed at the expression of abject relief on his friend's face and there was applause for the assist. "That was a great pass to Hector, Boateng, and Hector, that assist was inspired. And a good finish from you too, Goretzka. Better luck next time, ter Stegen."

Bernd felt eyes on him. He reacted quickly. "He doesn't need it, Jogi! He won't be playing tomorrow!"

"You are literally the substitute to the substitute, Leno!" Marc-Andre yelled back. "You aren't even playing in the _practice_ game!"

"He did it again!" Mats yelled, pointing at Marc-Andre and then Benni. "Did you hear that, Bene? He roasted Bernd  _well!_ And Bernd called  _me_ pathetic! And don't say anything, Reus!"

Leroy placed a hand on his heart. "It's his breakout phase! This is him showing the world what he can really do!"

"Damn," Sami said, as Mesut hissed in sympathy for Bernd. "Ter Stegen really popped off, there. Trouble in paradise?"

Mesut snorted. "Imagine being roasted by Marc-Andre, I think I'd die of shame."

Kai felt like he needed to give his friend encouragement. He elbowed Bernd in a friendly manner.

"Don't be glum! I bet _Marc-Andre_ can't do a goal kick that flips a bottle in the distance!" he said brightly. "Jonathan still says it's the most impressive thing he's ever seen you do!"

"Thanks, kid," Bernd said dryly. "Glad to know I'm making marks during my career."

"Oh, and you can make good saves, too," Kai said, actually waving his hand dismissively, as if this was an afterthought.

Speaking of good saves, Manu made an  _incredible_ one just at that moment. Thomas, in classic Thomas fashion, had ended up accidentally executing a world-class bicycle kick that really did look like it was going into the back of the net. Manu, however, had cut his boyfriend off in the middle of his triumphant roar by pushing the ball over the bar, reaching it so quickly nobody even realised he had moved.

From his position on the floor, Thomas's mouth fell open.

"Sorry, what the  _fuck,_ " he said, as Manu got to his feet again, grinning and high-fiving Jonas, Jerome, Lukas and Benni. Leon was jumping up and down in delight.

"That was fucking  _unreal!_ " he yelled. "NEUER-"

"THE WALL!" the subs and Manu's team answered.

Thomas remained motionless, his mouth still hanging open.

"Up you get, Thommy," Manu said, extending a hand to his boyfriend. "Let's not get petty, now-"

Thomas slapped Manu's hand away and got to his feet so quickly and dramatically Fips was surprised that he didn't click his neck.

"You," Thomas informed Manu. "Stopped the best goal I would've ever scored in my career."

"Maybe it's best I stopped it, then," Manu said seriously. "It would've been a bit embarrassing if  _that_ was the best goal in your career..."

Thomas gasped and fell to the ground theatrically once more, Miro reaching down to pat his back consolingly and everyone else roaring with laughter. Jogi allowed himself a tiny quirk of the lips, but quickly grew impatient as Thomas remained sprawled out flat on the turf, refusing to get up as Basti tried to coax him into playing again.

"Right, enough with the histrionics, Müller, back to your feet!" he called briskly. "That was a demonstration of things actually going _well_! Neuer, that save was absolutely inspired. Müller, had any other keeper been in front of that net, you would have scored that goal. Good build-up play, too! Reus, you need to react more quickly, you nearly missed that through-ball from Schweinsteiger. Very promising display!"

"My dreams are dead," Thomas groaned.

After Miro eventually managed to get Thomas back to his feet again after promising he would nutmeg Mario (Mario closed his legs immediately,  Jogi decided to do a switch-around of lineups. Toni was on for Leon, Kai was on for Marco. The new players jogged on and the subs went to become part of the catcalls. 

Marco went up to Mario and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's shoulders. Mario looked up at him, his eyes silently asking him a question that went unanswered. Marco rested his chin on Mario's head and said nothing, though his lips touched Mario's temple, sending warmth throughout his boyfriend's body.

Leon felt a little grumpy as Kai immediately set off at full-speed when the ball was kicked off again. He had no business being that fast, he could cover ground so quickly. He instantly made it into a nice spot for Basti to give him a pass and started dribbling at once. 

Jonas received applause again as he initiated an inch-perfect challenge on Kai before the boy could send the through-ball to Thomas. Kai was pretty excellent at trying to regain possession, he pressured Jonas well, but the left-back turned impressively swiftly and passed back to Jerome, who initiated his classic long-ball to Lukas.

"Good job, nice turn, Hector!" Jogi called out. He knew that certain players who struggled with confidence issues, like Jonas, often needed the boosts of encouragement that came from individual praise. "And nice work trying to recover, Havertz."

" _Trying_ is the key-word!" Leon yelled at Kai.

"Like you  _trying_ to score off the counter?" Kai shot back without missing a beat. Leon gasped. The disastrous wide shot after the beautiful counter in yesterday's training session was already on Leon's list of career lows. Kai bringing it up was even lower.

Toni fortunately managed to show the boy up a bit with a sharp, clean pass to Lukas, who hadn't seen much of the ball so far. Lukas started running towards the opposing goal, and was met by Mats and Niklas. Niklas managed to muscle the ball off of Lukas but it was immediately stolen back off of him by Jonas. Jonas initiated a pretty beautiful cross to Toni-

"TER STEGEN-!" Thomas yelled, not wanting to go two down, he needed to beat his fucking stupid boyfriend-

He cursed with great volume and expression. Toni took the shot and Marc-Andre  _only just_ missed the ball.

"That's my Kroos!" Jerome bellowed proudly, giving Toni a crushing hug. Toni grinned as Jonas went to give him a high-five.

"Thanks for the assist," he said. Jonas winked at him as he jogged away again.

It was a cool November's day, but for Toni, the weather suddenly felt sweltering. He was so caught off-guard by the effect a distortion of the eyelid could have on him he almost missed Thomas streaking past him with his jaw set. Before Thomas could chase a consolation goal and stop his boyfriend's smirk in one kick, however, Jerome came to the rescue with the tackle, Lukas's side initiated the counter-attack and Kai finished off the team effort with a beautiful third goal past Marc-Andre.

"OLE OLE OLE!" Lukas's side sang.

Miro looked at Kai. Was it possible this kid really was a reincarnation of Mikey?

The boy seemed unconcerned by such trivial matters about whether he was fulfilling Germany's football legacy in a training session- he was more interested in shithousing. He went right up to Leon, holding his arms open for a patronising hug of comfort. Leon turned on his heel and stalked into the crowd of subs, who tried to push him towards Kai to accept the humiliation.

Jogi was very pleased with what he was seeing- and this was showing in the inordinate amount of praise he was giving. Although there was a good deal of immaturity and overdramatic behaviour, he was seeing some genuinely great displays from his players. He was sure they'd put in a similar shift against their strong rivals. One thing he was concerned about, however, was Marco. The forward had put in great displays for Dortmund recently, and he had been pretty solid in training recently, so he didn't really know why the man had played so poorly today, especially under little pressure.

He would have to call the man over later to make a brief check on his wellbeing. Perhaps it was just one of those days. They happened to everyone.

 ***

_Private chat between Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng_

**Robert:** ♪Wojciech is injured♪

 **Robert:** ♪Arek is injured♪

 **Jerome:** omg wtf are they ok? is it bad? 

 **Jerome:** what happened?

 **Robert:** Muscle pull for Wojciech

 **Robert:** Fucking achilles tendon for Arek

 **Robert:** Day before the match! :)

 **Robert:** Lukasz will be in goal, Krzysztof up for Arek

 **Robert:** Potentially 4 months for him

 **Jerome:** :((( that's so sad for both of them jesus, but arek 4 months!!!! the level of luck

 **Jerome:** fabianski is a really good goalkeeper and piatek is too tho so you'll still be fine

 **Robert:** I know they're good

 **Robert:** Doesn't change the fact that Wojciech and Arek are hurt

 **Jerome:** shit yeah I know that

 **Jerome:** i'm sorry honey, i wasn't saying you're more concerned over the result than your friends

 **Robert:** Nono baby I know don't say sorry 

 **Robert:** Call me superstitious but it feels like the first bad luck sign is in place dammit

 **Jerome:** no, we aren't moving like this rob

 **Jerome:** it's unfortunate but it doesn't decide anything

 **Jerome:** don't panic okay

 **Robert:** Too late lol

 **Robert:** We're already playing so shit in training

 **Robert:** What the hell is wrong with us

 **Robert:** We've got great individual players 

 **Robert:** But when you put us together it's like we can't put together a single good movement

 **Jerome:** maybe it's brzęczek's fault

 **Jerome:** but don't think about that now

 **Jerome:** if u write off the game before u even step on the pitch u've already lost

 **Robert:** Fair enough there's not much left to do anymore

 **Robert:** My leg is shaking lmao

 **Robert:** How are you right now baby?

 **Jerome:** want to call baby??

 **Jerome:** do the jacobson's relaxation technique like i showed u

 **Jerome:** clench fist then ease it out

 **Jerome:** also in for two out for four breathing

 **Jerome:** and i'm okay, just want to get into the game too

 **Robert:** I'll call after training baby, I'm not even really meant to be texting right now lol

 **Robert:** Yeah I did a bit of it and it helped thanks

 **Robert:** Good to hear, no muscle complaints?

 **Jerome:** okay xx

 **Jerome:** do the breathing for as long as you need to, put down the phone if it distracts you

 **Jerome:** and no muscle complaints

 **Jerome:** feeling on really good form

 **Jerome:** our whole back line is looking decent, jonas is on crazy good form and benni is probably going to start he's been super solid

 **Robert:** Mats?

 **Jerome:** he had his cold and stuff so hes been a bit slower

 **Jerome:** not bad just think benni is on better form at the moment

 **Jerome:** niklas would be a good option too but think jogi will stick with what he knows

 **Jerome:** fips is obvious

 **Robert:** I'm glad to hear that Hector is doing well you know

 **Robert:** That guy is so sweet, he cant talk to me properly but I was sad to see him go down, he's so talented

 **Jerome:** he's still putting on elite performances, he'll be back up in the bundesliga soon

 **Robert:** Yeah he was annoying to play against

 **Jerome:** yeah like arjen says too

 **Jerome:** are you feeling a bit better now, baby?

 **Robert:** Wahey no

 **Robert:** Why tf do I get so nervous it's so ridiculous

 **Robert:** I fluctuate like crazy between being pretty calm and then turning into the physical manifestation of stress

 **Jerome:** anxiety is normal, especially under pressure, don't beat yourself up about feeling it you know we all go through the same things

 **Jerome:**  andugh, our games are at the same time

 **Jerome:** i wont be able to watch you :(

 **Robert:** It's okay, you don't want to torture yourself

 **Jerome:** >:(

 **Robert:** I meeeannn

 **Robert:** I am going to miss your moral support :(

 **Robert:** Fr though it makes me feel more comfortable knowing you're watching

 **Robert:** If I get a dumb panic attack before the match or something I just think yo Jeri's going to watch this shit, you've gotta pull yourself together, and then I feel happy because I know you're watching me and I want to make you proud

 **Jerome:** they're not 'dumb' okay

 **Jerome:** but that's so fucking sweet what i love you so much

 **Jerome:** i'm glad it gives u comfort, but i never judge you when you play and you always make me proud

 **Jerome:** for what it's worth ur general existence makes me feel proud and safe

 **Jerome:** like, regardless if whether u score or not, if you get an own goal or a red card or just sit down on the pitch instead of playing, just the sight of ur face makes me feel whole  anyway

 **Jerome:** i love you love you love you and i have sooo much faith in u

 **Robert:** I love you so much too, Jesus

 **Robert:** You really did go and change my whole life and view on football didn't you

 **Robert:** YOU make me proud with everything you do too

 **Robert:** And whaddya know I've stopped shaking :)

 **Jerome:** that's fucking music to my ears my baby :D

 **Jerome:** keep up the breathing and the muscle relaxation, psychological tension can lead to physical strain

 **Jerome:** i seriously love youuuuu do you know when u get hit by a bomb of affection

 **Robert:** Damn straight I do, I just got hit by it now

 **Robert:** Yeah I'll keep it up and the 2-4 breathing

 **Jerome:** when we call later we can go through it again if you want

 **Robert:** Yeah that'd be good thanks

 **Robert:** My broski, I must depart :(

 **Robert:** I have to carry on training, I will fuckigngn call you later for our pre-matchday venting sesh and so I can see your beautiful face which I miss SO much <3

 **Jerome:** see it now!

**Jerome:**

**Jerome:** auf wiedersehen schatz, talk to you laterrr <3

 **Jerome:** i loveee youuu :D 

 **Robert:** Mesut is a rather dashing fellow

 **Robert:** And your smile is so CUTE

 **Robert:** Byeeeee btw I love you toooo

 **Robert:** <3333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333333

***

_thomas is bayern's past present and future_

**Serge:** ok so who's going to help me cospnir to get james out of this fucking club

 **Serge:** he keeps fucking complaining about everything

 **James:** i will gladly leave this club

 **James:** i will leave football

 **James:** i can never play football again with this injury

 **Leon:** u are such a fucking overdramatic clown

 **Leon:** i deal with injuries every day of my life

 **Leon:** also sergi 'cospnir' is added to the list

 **Serge:** add your mother to the list leo

 **Serge:** also ikr, half this squad is permanently injured and we aint act like we can never play again

 **James:** no u

 **Thomas:** speaking of 'never playing football again'

 **Thomas:** that's what we're going to make arjen want to do

 **Thomas:** tomorrow

 **Arjen:** What does that mean, Thomas?

 **Manu:** It means that your team are going to crash and burn

 **Arjen:** Here we go

 **Xabi:** Can we please be slightly civilised in this upcoming apocalypse?

 **Fips:** Xabi, I know you're not a German native, and you've integrated remarkably into our society.

 **Fips:** But that was the fucking stupidest request you've ever made. You might as well ask them not to insult one another for good.

 **Xabi:** You might just be right.

 **James:** i bet that fucking germany are going to lose because fucking germany was where fucking nico kovac was born

 **James:** please score many left-footed bangers arjen

 **Mats:** james, kovac is CROATIAN

 **James:** your MOTHER is croatian

 **Jerome:** where tf ur saltiness come from boy? 

 **James:** from your mothers VAGINA

 **Manu:** James, he isn't going to score a damn thing.

 **Arjen:** Well...

 **Manu:** Well what, Arjen?

 **Manu:** Well WHAT?

 **Arjen:** I'm just saying, Manuel!

 **Arjen:** I wouldn't put it past me to score!

 **Arjen:** It has been said that on numerous occasions that I score attractive goals rather frequently!

 **Manu:** I haven't heard that.

 **Fips:** Neither have I.

 **Thiago:** who has ever said that

 **Xabi:** Who has seen it, is the real question

 **Thomas:** arjen robbeng mexico with an attractive penalty i guess

 **Franck:** im better

 **Arjen:** Right.

 **Arjen:** So do you want me to just destroy our Champions League trophy?

 **Arjen:** As clearly I am of that much worth to you

 **Javi:** No mi amigo we love you!

 **Javi:** You are such a good player!! :)

 **Thomas:** the spanish jonas strikes again

 **Mats:** hey javi, nobody asked you for your opinion

 **Mats:** i am going to immobilise arjen once again

 **Mats:** just like the old days

 **Arjen:** Like you immobilised me in that one Champions League final?

 **Mats:** right well just for that enjoy getting every touch in the box cleared

 **Arjen:** For that threat to be effective, I need to know who you're implying will be clearing my touches

 **Mats:** me you fucking buffoon

**Arjen:**

**Arjen:** Thank goodness, I can breathe a little easier

 **Mats:** what the FUCK does that mean

 **Basti:** arjen,

 **Arjen:** Basti

 **Basti:** do you really think i'm NOT going to be opening up space in our midfield for our attackers to roam, allowing us to cut through your defence efficiently and effectively?

 **Arjen:** You tell me

 **Arjen:** I get the distinct feeling this is very one-sided surely not EVERYONE wants Germany to win

 **Arjen:** Franck help me out here

 **Franck:** what do u want me to do arjen mon ami

 **Franck:** u are our rival in the natins league too

 **Arjen:** Yeah but we're both against Germany

 **Franck:** do i like the netherlands?

 **Arjen:** Do you like Germanay

 **Franck:** more than the netherlands

 **Franck:** us and germany can both work together for once to push u down

 **Arjen:** We've been partners for 10 years.

 **Franck:** all's fair in love and war

 **Arjen:** What

 **Xabi:** I personally think it's going to be a pretty even game

 **Xabi:** I don't know, maybe a 1-0 scoreline?

 **Javi:** :O

 **Arjen:** Bye

_Arjen Robben left thomas is bayern's past present and future._

_Thomas Müller added Arjen Robben to thomas is bayern's past present and future._

**Javi:** I am so sorry mi amigo!!

 **Thiago:** why are u apologising for xabi's roast javi

 **Javi:** I felt second-hand guilt thia!!! 

 **Thomas:** fuck i am so conflicted about that roast

 **Thomas:** on the one hand hahahahhahahaa the netherlands lost 1-0 in the final 

 **Thomas:** on the other hand, that 1-0 loss was to SPAIN

 **Xabi:** Germans, you'll have to stay silent for that one.

 **Basti:** fuck you

 **Manu:** Say it to my fucking face Alonso

 **Xabi:** Hey I roasted the Netherlands.

 **Arjen:** Guys, what the FUCK.

 **Arjen:** After all I've done for you, this is the shit I get in return?

**Arjen:**

**James:** don't worry mi amigo

 **James:** i am right now your biggest supporter

 **James:** matthijis de ligt, name a better defender

 **Jerome:** jerome boateng

 **Mats:** mats hummels

 **Niklas:** Niklas Süle

 **Fips:** Philipp Lahm

 **David:** david alaba

 **Joshua:** joshua kimmich

 **Rafinha:** márcio rafael ferreira de souza!!!!

 **Thiago:** javi say your damn name

 **Javi:** I don't think I'm better though baby !!

 **Thiago:** SAY YOUR DAMN NAME JAVIER

 **Javi:** Ok I'm sorry ! 

 **Javi:** Javi Martinez!

 **James:** well shows how much YOU all know

 **James:** germany can fall also SO CAN CROATIA

 **James:** JAVI AND XABI DO YOU HEAR ME

 **James:** CROATIA. MUST. FALL.

 **Javi:** We can try!!!

 **James:** THAT IS NOT ENOUGH.

 **James:** CROATIA MUST FALL. 

 **James:** JAVI IF YOU DON'T WIN. I WILL BE VERY UPSET

 **Javi:** D: I will try my best to make you happy!!

 **Thiago:** boy if you keep trying to guilt trip my man-

 **Thiago:** you don't owe him ANYTHING baby

 **Xabi:** Jesus Christ James, are you okay?

 **James:** no

 **James:** feel pure shit just want jupp back x

**James:**

**Thomas:** even his face was bayern red :(

 **James:** KOVAC IS ALSO RED

 **James:** THE COLOUR OF BLOOD, THEBLOOD HE HAS ON HIS HANDS FROM ALL THE PEOPLE HE MURDERED IN COLD BLOOD WITH HIS BAD TACTICS

 **James:** HE IS A STAIN UPON GERMANY

 **Serge:** i don't know what fucking painkilling drugs theyve given him guys

 **Serge:** for what it's worth, i am supporting my german boys 

 **Serge:** leo is going to show all of you what a midfielder is

 **Leon:** awww sergi!!! :')

 **Basti:** he's on the same wavelength as james to be honest

 **Leon:** aw wtf basti that's nice

 **Basti:** on the bench

_Leon Goretzka left thomas is bayern's past present and future._

_James Rodriguez left thomas is bayern's past present and future._

_Thomas Müller added Leon Goretzka to thomas is bayern's past present and future._

_Thomas Müller added James Rodriguez to thomas is bayern's past present and future._

**Serge:** things will be CHANGING mark my words

 **Serge:** leo will get a start and people will wake up and stop SLEEPING on him

 **Leon:** :')))

 **James:**...

 **Serge:** yes, james?

 **James:** u missed somebody out

 **Serge:** i don't quite know what you mean.

 **James:** you missed someone else in your statement about waking up on the slept on

 **Serge:** no i didn't. i said all i needed to say

 **James:** ok

_James Rodriguez left thomas is bayern's past present and future._

_homas Müller added James Rodriguez to thomas is bayern's past present and future._

**James:** WHY WON'T ANYONE LET ME  **LEAVE**

 **James:** I HATE GERMANY

 **James:** SPAIN TAKE ME BACK

 **James:** ARJEN PLEASE IM BEGGING YOU ADD HOPE TO MY MISERABLE LIFE TOMORROW

**Arjen:**

**Thomas:**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reality rule- let's pretend germany has a training ground in amsterdam. michael is a studio analyst for zdf with oli kahn for the nations league apparently, because the nations league is a serious and prestigious thing, on a real high international level...
> 
> speaking of a real high international level... *clears throat* the euros in this fic's timeline (lol, timeline) are soon... not an important detail, tho!
> 
> there hasn't been MUCH mesami recently but that is purely because so much more is coming up dont worry honeys
> 
> wtf james was so fun to write
> 
> schnick schnack schnuck= rock paper scissors in english
> 
> this is totally unrelated but young thomas was adorable tf  
> https://i.pinimg.com/originals/ac/36/3a/ac363a8dab59cf87459457928a1bf486.jpg  
> https://i.pinimg.com/originals/94/7a/d6/947ad66fc032d0fd0317f9dd2c0800b1.jpg  
> HES OLD NOW I HATE IT
> 
> hope yall enjoyed


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 14!  
> MATCHDAY!  
> germany vs the orange cunts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very weirdly paced chapter with absolutely no proofreading whats wrong with me im crazy im so sorry
> 
> lineups:  
> germany-  
> manu  
> fips  
> jonas  
> jerome  
> benni  
> basti  
> sami  
> thomas  
> toni  
> mesut  
> miro
> 
> (i really can't be bothered to write a lineup for the netherlands just know arjen, van dijk, de ligt, de jong, blind, depay, cilessen, sneijder, huntelaar are playing sorry guys)
> 
> this will be a long af chapter i think. sorry
> 
> auf geht's!

Marco had woken up early in the morning to go and talk to Jogi. He couldn't take it anymore. The pain in his knee, which he had tried so bravely to ignore, had mounted to be too much and he knew there was no way he could play through it. He had talked to Struth, his agent, and Struth in turn had reiterated what the physiotherapist Voeste and Müller-Wohlfahrt had already told him. To play through the pain would only be more damaging. He needed to rest. Even if it meant another spell on the bench after his good form in Dortmund.

"The knee pain is getting worse," Marco told his coach, who was already up, poring over last-minute notes. The coach hadn't looked surprised at his appearance, and Marco hadn't wasted any words. "I don't think I can play today."

For all his exasperation and dry words, Joachim Löw was compassionate. He knew how injuries could ruin careers and the mentality of players. He only had to look towards René Adler, or Michael Ballack (regardless of how turbulent the midfielder's parting from the team had been) or poor Sebastian Deisler to see it. 

"Yes, I spoke to Hans after the training session yesterday and he told me as much. Have you scheduled any appointments?" he asked. 

"Yes. I'm going to see Dr Wohlfahrt soon. I've spoken to Thorben also. I'm not going to pull out of the training camp now, of course not, but Thorben said we need to check and see where this pain is coming from and find some sort of solution for it. Volker also said that I shouldn't leave unless I'm told that I shouldn't risk playing. In the last game before the break, against Hoffenheim, I got a minor knock from Geiger, that might have excacerbated things with my knee. I don't know for sure. But we'll find out."

"Of course. I'll confer with the physios and Hans so we can get the best judgement, and I'll ring Lucien," Jogi said seriously. Marco  _had_ thought about phoning his coach at Dortmund, but he didn't want to be a disappointment for someone else, he didn't want to yet again be a dead weight because of injury. He didn't know how serious the problem was yet, anyway. "How are you feeling? Aside from the pain, of course."

"I don't know," Marco said. His face was red. "I hope it can be fixed before the next game, but I don't have much hope. It's never that easy. I definitely don't think I'm fit enough to play today. Not for the whole ninety minutes. I'm sorry, Jogi."

"That's okay, it's not your fault. Your health is more important. You can sit on the bench for today," Jogi said quietly. "You need your rest. Dortmund don't want to be cost their best forward. More importantly, _you_ don't want to be ruled out for even longer."

Marco nodded, brushing his hand over his nose and keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. 

"I just wanted to play," he whispered. "All I want to do is play."

"I know, Marco, I know," Jogi murmured, knowing how Marco was feeling, he had dealt with these problems with his other players and knew how crushing they were. "I'm sorry this keeps happening to you. You will get your moment, I promise. For what it's worth, I feel nothing but pride at the way you conduct yourself in situations like these. Your patience and perserverance is admirable and it will pay off."

 _Fuck._ These words, along with the vicious pain in his knee, was enough to make a lump rise in his throat and cause his eyes to sting. The only time Jogi had ever seen Marco cry properly was after  _that_ ankle injury, and he didn't want it to happen again. Marco jerked his head, thanked Jogi hurriedly and turned around, striding away from the coach and back to his room. 

Mario was awake when Marco entered the room. He was sitting upright on his bed, on his phone, and when he saw Marco he instantly jumped up. Marco stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to compose himself, but when Mario came towards him with his arms outstretched he broke down.

"Baby, what is it?" Mario whispered, rubbing his back as he felt Marco shaking in his arms. "Where did you go?"

"To talk to Jogi," Marco said, clutching onto Mario and trying his level best to quiet down. He was so embarrassed with himself, but Mario's hold was so comforting he felt like he could let a little bit of him go. "I can't play today, Mar. My knee hurts too much.  _Again._ Volker says to rest, Thorben says to rest, Wohlfahrt says to rest, Jesus, the rest of my life will be resting..."

"Oh, baby..." Mario murmured, pulling Marco closer towards him. So this was the explanation for Marco's phone call yesterday, for his cold and withdrawn behaviour recently. He was hurting again. "I'm so sorry. But it's for the best, you know that you'll make it worse if you play through it. You don't want to risk anything. Take the rest for this game and get the physio's help.  You'll get your chance in France,  _surely._ "

He didn't want to ask Marco why he hadn't told Mario about his pain. 

"Yeah," Marco said. "I hope so. I hope so. If I don't get to play at all this break I'm going to..."

His voice trailed off. His fists clenched around Mario's shoulders and he buried his head into his boyfriend's hair. Mario could feel the hot tears dripping from his boyfriend's face and struggled not to cry himself. It was so unfair. Every time they had some hope, and every time something had to happen to stop Marco's progress. He had been so excited to get some playing time with the national team, and here they were now. It was amazing how Marco still had any patience.

He was not the only one in ill spirits at the moment. Robert was panicking again. 

"Breathe, baby, breathe."

Wojciech had left the room early to go to the physiotherapist, so Robert was thankfully alone in his humiliating overreaction. He hadn't  _wanted_ to call Jerome to burden him yet _again_ , but racing to see his boyfriend's familiar face was a natural self-protective response at this point.

He was already so _sick_ of himself. He couldn't imagine how Jerome must be feeling.

"I hate this," Robert gasped nevertheless, hitting himself on the head. "I can't play. I'm just going to fuck it all up again. I can't do anything right. I missed a sitter in training when Lukasz was literally yards off of his line. How am I supposed to go against Bonucci, Barzagli and Chiellini?"

"Listen to yourself, Rob. You know that you're not right. A training session doesn't determine a match. Don't you remember when Mats scored that fucking awful own goal in training and then scored the winning  _header_ against Bremen the next game? One game in the past doesn't determine the rest of your international career either."

It was remarkable how fucking patient his Jeri was. Robert wanted to thump himself when he heard himself say the same things over and over again, unable to stop his thoughts from going round and round in circles, but Jerome seemed perfectly fine with constantly reassuring him. 

When Robert believed people had faith in him, when he trusted in his own ability, he was supremely confident and happy. When he was with Bayern he rarely ever had these moments of paralysing fear, he never lacked confidence so badly- it was only recently, after unfounded criticisms over his work-rate from fucking pundits and the likes, that he had grown more nervous on the pitch.  When he felt that he was under scrutiny, that people didn't believe in him, he developed self-doubts.

 _If I'm not the best, I must be the worst._ It was a fundementally flawed way of thinking, but Robert couldn't control that impulsive idea in moments like these. If only he could feel as he did a couple of years ago! Poland had gotten through the group stage of the Euros (after that truly terrible 0-0 game versus Germany), they had gotten through the first penalty shootout against Switzerland, and they had fallen short against Portugal in the second. Yet self-reproach hadn't reached him the same way as it was doing now. He had convinced himself they had fought hard. He had pulled them through qualifiers, he had broken records, it had never amounted to anything but he had always put in his best. Right now, though...

"We keep  _fighting,_ the atmosphere in the dressing room is so bad, I have no idea how I'm meant to rally the team," Robert said miserably. "I'm so useless.  _Individualistic, sluggish and overly theatrical..._ I said he was an idiot at the time, but maybe Hamann was fucking right-"

"Don't you even!" Jerome said angrily. "Hamann managed for Stockport County and got them 3 wins for the whole season, he doesn't know a fucking thing about what you have to offer to the team. I'm not letting you get to this point, Rob, no way. Next you'll be saying the likes of Scholl and Bartels have opinions worth listening to and be done with it."

Robert couldn't help himself, he burst out laughing. Jerome still looked fierce, but Robert's laughter was so infectious his cross expression broke and he started laughing too. They laughed so much that the tears running down Robert's face were from mirth rather than panic.

"Jesus," he gasped, sitting upright again. Jerome was shaking his head, still giggling. He didn't even know what was so funny, he was just in that irrational state of mind where he rapidly fluctuated between moods. "Bartels and Rethy are in a class of their own, you can't deny."

"A cut above the usual standard of cunts in German commentators. They're on another level of annoying. Which is why you shouldn't let their opinions get to you," Jerome said gently. "Have faith in yourself, not in what other people think of you, Rob. You're the fucking  _opposite_ of useless, my love.  I know I can't watch you play, but I swear, I'm going to be thinking of you every second I'm on the pitch, and I am _always going to believe in you._ "

"Wow, thanks!" Robert said in a high-pitched voice, and then he made finger guns. Then he burst into tears.

Leroy was trying to give the two of them some space, but he couldn't really help himself, he was half-listening to their conversation from where he was holed up in the bathroom. Honestly, he had  _never_ expected Robert Lewandowski to be so... fragile. Not that it was a bad thing, it was human to be nervous, it was just... unprecedented, to hear the cool forward crying. In any case, he was now officially the Polish National Team's biggest fan. He had never wanted somebody to win so badly.

It was incredible how different the mood of Poland was compared to the mood of Germany. At that moment, Manu and Thomas were horsing around in their room, imitating Arjen falling to the floor at slight contact, Benni was cracking his knuckles with Mats, determined to outshine van Dijk and de Ligt in any way he could, and Kai was spinning Julian around, claiming that de Jong had absolutely nothing on  _him._

At breakfast, it became even more apparent how excited everyone was. Only Mario and Jerome seemed in any way downcast- Marco had gone to the physio instead of coming to the table with his boyfriend, and Jerome was worried for his own boyfriend. Jokes were flying about the Netherlands and about how the Nations League had been formulated solely so they could actually qualify for an international tournament (the superstitious of the group cringed at the audacious comments, sure karma would pay them in kind for it). Leon was texting _again,_ his cheeks dusted with pink and a small smile on his face, while Fips glared at him. Manu was talking to earnestly to Jonas about defensive formations, in a bid to reassure the nervous left-back that he had faith in him.  Cheeriness was in the air, people were itching to get in front of the fans and put up a good show.

Toni was being more excited and talkative than he usually was, as he was going to see little Leon soon.

"He's going to be so excited," he said fondly to Jerome. "I'm not even nervous about him being in your degenerate presence, he's going to be so happy. Their flight came in last night, Jess said he didn't sleep a wink."

"Is that a good thing?" Jerome asked, a small smile on his face. 

"For Jess? Probably not," Toni laughed heartily. "Leon being happy is a good thing, though."

"Natürlich. I can't wait to see him." Jerome took a bite of his toast, smiling bravely. Toni noticed the strained look on his face.

"Was ist los?" he asked. "You look worried. Has something happened?"

"Nein," Jerome said. And then he sighed, covering his face with his hands. "Rob is just in a bad way at the moment, Toni. I'm worried for him. He's gotten himself into his nervous spiral of thoughts again. A loss today would really impact his confidence. He's blaming himself for everything."

Toni was a little disbelieving. "Oh, come on. Lewandowski is  _Lewandowski._ He's great no matter what the scoreline is. Okay, sure, the 6-0 and the red was pretty fucking awful. But has he forgotten about all the qualifiers he's literally _dragged_ Poland to?"

"Yes," Jerome said miserably. He dropped his head against Toni's shoulder. "I hate to see him so unsure of himself, Toni. I really, really need him to win today."

"He will," Toni said firmly, looping an arm around his friend. "It's the spaghetti men. He'll be fine. Knowing Italy in the state they're in now, the only way they'll win is through some FIFA-style shithouse own goal, or a dumb penalty."

Jerome sighed. "I  _hope_ so."

Jonas was listening quietly, Manu having moved on from their conversation to giving Joshua the hairdryer treatment for accidentally flicking scrambled eggs in his face. He didn't want to interrupt, knowing that his opinion was literally the last thing anybody ever wanted to hear. Jerome sounded so dejected, however, that he felt like he had to say something comforting.

"His legacy speaks for himself," he said softly. "Everyone admires him. The only ones who criticise him are the ones who associate the role of the no.9 with scoring only, which means they think a game where he doesn't score is a failure. They also don't understand that a player can't perform miracles- the media sensationalise everything, always wanting there to be a fairytale turn of events that is just improbable. They load the pressure up because they want a narrative. Robert is an incredible player, but he can't shape a country's footballing legacy."

Jerome looked surprised. That was probably the most number of words he had ever heard Jonas speak in one go. Jonas seemed to also realise this and he blushed, rubbing his nose.

"Thank you, Jonas, you're totally right. Can you say that all to him?" Jerome said genuinely. 

Jonas laughed nervously and Toni gave him a friendly elbow to the ribs, pleased that they were all hearing more of his thoughts these days. It was also good that Jonas had the confidence to speak up on a matchday- hopefully it meant he was going to be feeling on his game during the match.

All in all, the atmosphere was very nice- that was all well and good. It wasn't a game to fear for them, they were all on brilliant form and, arrogance aside, genuinely could work together to immobilise the Netherlands side under Koeman quite easily. But Jogi was required by law to feel trepidation. Marco being on the bench was a blow. Jogi had been hoping to play the Dortmund forward to see how well he gelled together with the national team- yes, he had seen the man play with the team before, but with such irregularity it was hard to make a definitive judgement on him.  _Joshua_ had more caps than Marco. The good thing about Marco, however, was that he always put his best onto the pitch whenever he played, no matter how long he was out.

He was sure that his team would do him proud again. From the mainstay players to the young ones, he had faith in all of them. He had faith in Marco too. It was going to be a good day. He just had one of those feelings.

***

The Johan Cruyff Arena was where tonight's duel was going to take place. When the team bus rolled towards the stadium, there were many fans milling about, along with the endless streams of photographers. This was a classic rivalry and a classic rivalry meant that there was going to be pressure, especially from the orange-clad Netherlands supporters, whose team were at home. It was time for their players, and Ronald Koeman, to show that they were back on the big stage.

None of the players on either side were quite sure a Nations League group stage clash was as particularly momentous as the media were making it out to be, but they did have their reasons for wanting to put on a show. The Dutch wanted to win back favour, the Germans wanted to go ever-higher. Who better to do it against than their heated rivals? It was going to be one of those nights.

The Netherlands had already had a 2-1 loss to France. They needed points. Germany, however, were not going to give them away.

"Look!" Thomas said, nudging Manu, who was listening to music and hadn't heard a word of his chatter during the journey to the stadium. "They have banners with Arjen's face on them! God, he looks like an egg."

Manu took an earphone out of his ear and leaned over to peer out and see these banners for himself. He burst out laughing when he saw that one supporter had come up with a very creative poster where Arjen's bald head was apparently the sun, blinding German players.

"That's brilliant," he said, still laughing when he moved back to his seat. "You can't fault their sense of humour, at least."

"You can fault everything else," Thomas said energetically. "Arjen keeps sending photos of the whipped cream incident on the group chat and he's going to  _pay_ for it. I swear, I cannot  _wait_ to play, Manu. I'm going to show that man who can really score attractive goals..."

"Yeah, yeah, Thommy. Instead of daydreaming, you should get ready for me to be voted Goalkeeper of the Year for this match alone," Manu said, grinning. Thomas gave him a cross look.

"I hope you don't get a clean sheet for what happened in training yesterday," he said darkly. "And I hope  _I_ get a hattrick." 

"It's like you don't want me to be a good keeper."

"I don't want you to be a good keeper against  _me!_ "

"Cheer up, Thomas," Bernd said, from where he and Kai were sitting next to the bickering couple. "You should be grateful we have Manu. Can you imagine the alternative? Ter Stegen, Germany's number one... The only way you'd see a clean sheet is if you went to a clothes line."

Manu choked. "Why can't you replicate that energy in training, Bernd?  _You'd_ be number one without question, if you did."

Bernd sank low in his seat. "Man... right where it hurts. Today was meant to be about team spirit."

"What would you know about team spirit? You're not playing with the team," Thomas told him.

Kai gave Bernd a hug. 

Fortunately, at that point it was time for them to depart the bus, meaning Manu and Thomas couldn't roast him even further into cinders. There was a kerfuffle as everyone fought not to be the first one bombarded by the photographers. Eventually, Marco strode between all of them, pushing them aside dramatically, and stepped off the bus, claiming that the crowd would be so distracted by his beauty nobody else would be photographed.

When he met the cool Amsterdam evening and the lights of the flashing cameras, there was a split-second of visible effort in his face, of something being assembled, something put forth in urgency. A façade, a one-man militia being mustered into fighting ranks. And then the moment was gone and it was the usual Marco there, lopsided grin and casual arrogance in place, heading into the stadium. 

He would not let anything show.

They were to have their warm-ups before the game began, as per usual. Even though the stadium wasn't full yet, with around a thousand spectators already in their seats, there was a palpable sort of excitement in the air- the fans applauded as if a goal had been scored when the teams jogged out to warm up. Marco was sitting on the bench with the other substitutes, stretching out his leg, talking in a low voice to some of the medical staff who were lingering in the technical area. Mario continuously shot him worried glances from where he was with Bernd and Marc-Andre.

The Bayern players were definitely rather less focused than they should have been during the warm-up. Even under the razor-sharp glares of their coach, they all ambled over to where Arjen Robben was awaiting the inevitable onslaught of abuse. The bald Dutchman, hoping not to get brutally attacked by the incoming Germans, made finger-guns at his club compatriots but ended up getting assaulted by head-locks and friendly punches anyway. Despite the fact they were to be mortal enemies soon, laughter flew in the air as Arjen eventually managed to wrestle free of Manu's hold. There were definitely going to be photographs in the papers after that.

"You should all get banned for that," he told them in a low voice. "Trying to take out the man of the match before the game has even begun, shame on you."

"But I'm still standing," Thomas said in confusion. Arjen rolled his eyes and managed to avoid getting jabbed in the stomach by Jerome.

"HEY! Get back to work, all of you!" Jogi yelled at them, unable to believe that literally less than an hour before the match they were still horsing around. The Bayern players all poked Arjen one more time before jogging over their side of the pitch. Arjen couldn't help but laugh as he saw their retreating backs, but he also felt a bit of dread- post-game, if it was a win for Germany, they would be insufferably smug, but if it was a win for the Netherlands, they would be insufferably petty. There was no real winning for him today, was there?

There was no real winning today for one other person, who deserved just as much honourable mention as Robben, but was likely to have their strife go unnoticed. Jessica Farber, having been stuck in traffic on a busy highway in Amsterdam for so long she actually had begun to feel herself age, had just arrived in the stadium now, with Leon clinging to her and chattering away. She didn't want to say she was disorganised and may have lost their tickets, but that was... exactly what had happened. She had found them wedged in one of Leon's colouring books (and she had no idea how they had gotten there). Fortunately, she hadn't arrived too late- warm-ups were nearly at an end when she finally made her way into the stadium.

Toni saw her and waved eagerly, jogging towards the stands, where she was sitting very close to the technical area. Leon, at the sight of his father, exploded with joy and was already wriggling to try and reach him. Toni could feel cameras pointing at him but he didn't care, he always felt a bit of euphoria when seeing his son. Jerome ran after him, beaming. Jessica almost dropped Leon as he fought to get to his father, but Toni swooped into pick him up, lifting him high into the air and spinning him around on the spot. Jerome went to give Jessica a hug.

"Hi, hi," Jessica said, as Toni handed Leon to Jerome (the centre-back instantly dropped the giggling little boy onto his shoulders) and hugged her too. "Thank God we got here in the end. The traffic is fuck- I mean, _very_ horrific, here. This little one didn't stop moving for the whole journey, too."

"Mama forgot the tickets, so we had to _run_ ," Leon told Toni and Jerome brightly, pointing at his mother. Jessica gasped at the betrayal and then hit the men as they started laughing at her.

"I'd like to see you be totally on top of things when you're dealing with this little goober," she said, poking Leon in the cheek. "Yes, _maybe_ I didn't remember where I put them. That's not on me, though-"

"Yes, of course, because you can do no wrong, Jess," Toni said dryly. "Well, you're here anyway. Are you excited to watch me play, little lion?"

"YES!" Leon yelled with joy. Toni laughed as his son jumped up and down on Jerome's shoulders. Jessica, however, only saw incoming stress. "You're all going to win!"

"That's how it goes in Deutschland!" Jerome said, holding up his hand for Leon to high-five. Leon responded with great enthusiasm. The boy was in a frenzy, looking around at all the seats in the stadium and at the teams warming up and already vibrating. Then he spotted Jonas, who was doing wind-sprints with Benni, and he nearly lost his shit.

"Papa, look, Jonas!" he said, pointing at the left-back. "It's Jonas!"

"It is!" Toni chuckled, and Jessica noted curiously that his cheeks went pink, and his eyes went down immediately. "Maybe you can talk to him after the match, he's working, now, Leon."

"Ok! Is your Robbi playing too?" Leon asked Jerome. He had met Robert on many occasions when Toni had come to visit Jerome in München. Jerome grinned.

"Yeah, he is," he said fondly. "You're supporting him today too, yeah? He's playing against _Italien._ Ugh."

Leon nodded vigorously, and giggled as Jerome pulled a face upon mentioning Germany's other rival.

"We should go," Toni said as Jogi looked towards the stands to see where him and Jerome had ended up. He took Leon from Jerome's shoulders and kissed him on the head before passing him back to his mother. "We'll have to go into the tunnel soon. You two have fun during the match, okay? We'll see you afterwards."

"Okay!" Leon said brightly. "Good luck, Papa! See you later!"

"Good luck, Toni, Jerome," Jessica said, giving both of them a hug. "Go and get that ball into the back of the net, okay?"

"That's the plan," Jerome said with a wink. The two of them turned around and jogged back towards the team. Jessica watched her ex-husband particularly closely, wondering...

"Leon," she said to her son, jogging him on her hip. "Since when did you start talking to Jonas Hector?"

***

When the players filed into the changing rooms after the warm-ups, the enthusiasm was bordering on outright lunacy. Everyone was almost beside themselves with a determination to go and prove themselves. Nobody thought about Marco being on the bench- everyone was too preoccupied with the challenge ahead. 

"Auf geht's, Mes!" Sami said happily, high-fiving his friend and then deciding that that wasn't enough, he also needed to give the midfielder a hug, both nervous and thrilled about the night lying before them. Mesut laughed as Sami ruffled his hair and squeezed him tightly. "Get ready to show London exactly what they're leaving out! I hope Emery is watching!"

"Don't be crazy, Sami, I could nutmeg Messi and he wouldn't include me in a squad against Huddersfield. But I'm happy I get playing time today anyway," Mesut said brightly. "Having my favourite partner on the pitch, surrounded by players who can do their jobs correctly... it'll be a nice change. Being on the pitch in the first place will be a nice change."

Sami ruffled Mesut's hair affectionately again. "If you can show Arsenal what they're not utilising today, surely you'll be able to put pressure on Emery. People will watch your performances and say, Jesus, what is he doing on the bench for Arsenal? This is your chance, Mes. Show them how good you really are!" 

"Danke, Sam," Mesut said almost shyly. _"_ Let's not get too carried away, though. I could easily have a shit performance today."

Both of them, in perfect synchrony, dived down to touch the wood of the bench.

Big Leon was texting  _again._ Jesus Christ, Fips didn't know how he could still be doing it right before the match.

"Are you lying to your secret little boyfriend, and telling him you're starting?" he asked dryly, making Leon jump and almost hit his head on one of the pegs. "That's the only reason I can see for you looking so satsified right now."

"First of all," Leon said in a strangled voice. "I don't  _have_ a boyfriend. Second of all, I'm not looking  _satisfied._ "

"You're looking less grimly stoic than usual," Fips said. "I count that as looking satisfied." 

"Have you  _seen_ what _you_ look like?"

"Of course he hasn't. He doesn't want to drive himself into despair, does he?" Basti said. Fips gave him a look that should have ensured that Basti wouldn't dare look anyone in the eye again, but instead the central midfielder just grinned and gave his captain a hug.

The other Bayern players were chanting something in Bavarian that nobody else understood, being led by Thomas. It probably had something to do with Arjen. Hardly any of them sounded comprehensible, none of them actually understanding Bavarian themselves. The energy was understandable, though, and some other players joined in, yelling nonsense. Jogi walked into the changing room just in time to hear the cacophony of gibberish, Bavarian swearing and mildly offensive singing about the 2010 World Cup Final. He stood in front of his team, his arms folded, and simply stared at them until they noticed him and started giggling. 

"He looks just like a statue," Kai whispered to a sniggering Bernd in awe. "A solid block of granite. Features unmovable. It's remarkable."

Jogi shared some other traits of a solid block of granite- when he came down on them, it hurt. He yelled at them for a good two minutes about how distracted they were, and then he began lecturing them about last-minute tactics. Everyone's behaviour was now leaning towards the other end of the spectrum- rather than being obscenely uncivilised, they were now being obnoxiously over-attentive and shushing each other, apparently desperate to hear what their coach had to say. 

Jogi put it down to an eagerness to get the job done. 

God, he _hoped_ it was an eagerness to get the job done that was making them act like this. Something told him, however, it was more due to the fact they were fucking children.

"OK!" he called, throwing his hands up, at the end of his talk. "We just have to get out there, now, and show the Netherlands, once again, some ruthless German efficiency. Please put this frightening energy you have right now to good use. Now, I am going to say something that I will possibly regret, but, we only live once! Which bodes well for me. Anyway- I have faith in you all! I have expectations! Please- for once in your lives- fulfil them!"

"VIELLEICHT!" the team roared in response.

"Let's get some respect back!" Arjen Robben bellowed to his team, in the other changing room.

It was time to enter the tunnel. Now they could hear the roars of the stadium, and the banging of drums, through the walls. The Oranje fans were sharing the sentiment of their captain and were dancing up and down in the stands, determined both to show up the German away support and to show the world that they could never be silenced, no matter how bad results were. Ronald Koeman, the former Dutch legend, walked into the technical area with his hands stuck firmly into his suit pockets, surveying the crowd. The noise was so deafening it made him feel as though today, he was facing the biggest challenge of his managerial career so far.

The players all entered the tunnel, nobody regarding each other other than Robben and the Bayern crowd, including Miro and Toni, his former teammates. The striker gave the winger a knowing smile and the winger returned it, grateful at least one of his friends hadn't become a base savage in the name of international rivalry. Toni gave Arjen a grin. Jonas Hector, the shy left-back from FC Köln, made very brief eye contact with him before returning his gaze to the ground, blushing. Benedikt Höwedes just looked annoyed as his club teammate, Huntelaar, gave him a slap on the shoulder.

After what felt like an age of waiting, they could finally step onto the pitch. With the coin toss and the national anthem needing to take place before they could play, it felt like they were being forced to wait on the edge. The players took the time to look around and observe the beauty of the sight before them. The Johan Cruyff Arena looked more like a coliseum than a football stadium, the floodlights and the writhing mass of orange and white supporters giving them the impression they were now officially on show.

When the national anthem was over, with some truly terrible singing from both sides (Jonas genuinely wondered whether Basti could hear himself, sometimes), it was time for the coin toss. Fips and Arjen walked right up to each other, the air between them suddenly crackling with electricity. The Dutchman looked at his club captain and quirked his eyebrow challengingly. Fips responded by raising his own- that was, admittedly, a far better intimidation tactic.

"We'll start shooting at the away end," Arjen said decisively, when the flip went in his favour. The referee nodded. Fips extended his arm and the two club legends and opposing captains shook hands, neither of them breaking eye contact the whole time.

"Break both legs, hm?" Fips said serenely. 

"Is  _he_ watching?" Arjen responded slyly. Fips turned on his heel.

"Auf geht's," he told his team, when he approached them, and they started spreading out, the drums beginning to play. 

Little Leon, in Jessica's lap, heard the percussion and instantly starting bouncing up and down.

With Jessica wondering in horror how on Earth she was going to keep her small child still in this electric atmosphere for over ninety minutes, Sneijder got the first touch on the ball and the game began.

***

The wonderful thing about football was that it was so unpredictable. Sometimes games started off slowly, as players worked their way into a rhythm and then picked up the pace, and sometimes they started off like this one, with Jonas Hector receiving the ball and charging towards the opposition's goal at once.

The sudden aggression was not what the Netherlands players had been expecting. Germany were already streaking their way up towards their box, before the commentators across the world could even begin giving background information about the match. Jonas sent the through-ball to Thomas, who took advantage of his opponents' surprise to dribble closer and closer towards goal. It really seemed like they were about to break through _already_ \- Thomas made to pass-

But he got tackled by Virgil van Dijk, who cleared the ball to the middle of the pitch again, to where Wesley Sneijder was trying to outpace Benni. When the ball landed on the ground, there was an miniature battle, with both Benni and Sneijder fighting for possession. Eventually, Sneijder won it and passed to Matthijis de Ligt, who in turn passed it back to Jasper Cilessen.

 _Bang, bang, bang._ The rhythm of the pounding almost made the footballers feel like they were dancing. The explosive start to the match, with Jonas making a good run forwards in less than a minute, gave the Germany fans an idea of the kind of night they were in for. Jessica, from her spot in the stands by the technical area, saw Toni immediately growing taller and stronger than he was off of it. Little Leon seemed to sense this too.

Cilessen booted the ball out to where Klaas-Jan Huntelaar was waiting for it. The Schalke striker started to race up the pitch, but his club captain was there waiting for him. Benni intercepted the ball before he could pass it forwards, hissing, "sorry, Jan, this is for what you did in training two weeks ago!".

"You are so petty!" Huntelaar called after him. "That was literally an  _accident!_ "

He pushed himself forwards to pursue his friend, but couldn't get a touch on the ball before it was passed again. Miro received the pass and almost immediately had to give it away again- good lord, van Dijk was a large man. Thomas received the ball and stuck his tongue between his teeth. In the corner of his eyes, he could see Arjen, who hadn't yet gotten his first touch.

 _Watch this, coconut head,_ he thought. He began streaking towards the goal again, keeping in mind all the space around him. The Netherlands were keeping a pretty compact shape, but he could also see the holes in that shape. In typical Thomas fashion, he managed to find a break in their lines, and suddenly, Germany had their first chance of the match. Thomas crossed the ball into box. Sami made a beeline to meet it-

De Ligt intercepted the cross, after a little bit of miscommunication from him and Cilessen. The Ajax defender was being pressured by Sami in his own box, and made to hoof it towards one Arjen Robben.

The sight of their captain receiving the ball after Germany had been left pretty exposed on the break led the Netherlands fans to scream. Arjen was in motion at once, and the Germans were reminded of how fast he was, despite his age-

But Jonas was there. As the Netherlands team looked to engage the counter, he swooped in out of nowhere, and stole the ball off of Arjen with a  _lovely_ little challenge. Jogi actually let out a little triumphant cheer at the sight of it.  _That_ was his Hector. Reliable, speedy and talented. And fierce.

It was pretty obvious to see that the meek defender was really feeling it tonight. Jogi had always noted a certain sort of passion to Jonas' play that was really unique. The man's quiet demeanour had lead the coach to believe he would have a conservative, almost withdrawn style of play, but really, things could not have been more of the opposite. In all honesty, Jonas seemed to be untamed on the pitch. His raw understanding of  _football_ meant he was a constant presence on the pitch. He moved with a fire within his blood, and although it meant sometimes concepts like discipline went forgotten by him, he was all about the game, and was an invaluable asset.

The left-back placed a pass to Toni, and energetically ran forwards again. Toni's first touch led to Leon Kroos yelling in delight- Jessica clapped along with him. The attacking midfielder was almost tackled by de Jong, but he worked around it quite nicely and passed to Mesut. 

Mesut was another who had an incredible understanding of football. He had been so often dubbed the German Messi, but the team would argue that he was of his own calibre. When he received the ball from Toni, he was instantly thinking of the goal. Perhaps he was also thinking of revenge, too. Virgil van Dijk was right in front of him, and that one game versus Liverpool was one Mesut would have liked to gouge out of his memory- perhaps he could do so by showing the centre-back what it really meant to face him.

He played the ball between his two feet, almost daring van Dijk to go for the tackle. It was one of those situations where he was dancing on a tight-rope- he could so easily fall off. But one look at who was there to receive his pass made him believe he would stick to that rope as if he was magnetically bound to it.

Van Dijk surged forwards. Mesut avoided him and chipped the ball forwards to Sami. He ran forwards again and instantly received the second pass. 

The noise was reaching almost deafening levels. Mesut crossed the ball-

" _DAMN IT!_ "

Miro had just missed the cross. The ball went out of play. Goal kick.

It didn't matter. As far as Jogi was concerned, his team had been absolutely dominating so far, and their movements had been so supremely confident he was sure their resolve couldn't waver. Cilessen slammed the ball out once more, and there was Sneijder. Huntelaar and Arjen were moving down the pitch.

Basti pursued the ball as if his life depended on it, but his challenge was mistimed and Sneijder got past him. Lukas, from his spot on the bench, swore loudly, and Marco joined him. Sneijder passed to Arjen, who was now faced with the white wall of defenders, including the best right-back and centre-back in the world. But it wasn't like he hadn't gotten past tough competition before-

The winger pressed forwards with his dribbling, his focus so intense they could almost feel it simmering off of him like heat-

There were screams of annoyance from the Netherlands fans at the other end of the pitch. Arjen had been dispossessed by Jerome. Jerome barely had time to grin at his friend, he was too busy being pressured. He was forced to turn back to Manu, who ran off of his line and took the ball from him.

In a display of his sweeper-keeping talents, Manu navigated the ball around an incoming Babel and passed to Benni.  _On the break again._ The Germans moved so quickly it was almost astonishing- in the lead was Basti, whose arms and legs pumped up and down like he was running for his life. They were at the goal- 

All of a sudden, the whistle blew. The Germans looked over in horror as their magnificent counter-attack was stopped in its tracks. The offside flag was raised. 

Lukas was enraged. Marco winced as his friend bellowed, "What was offside? A hair on his damn knee?"

"DAS WAR KEIN ABSEITS!" the fans agreed.

There was little time for complaints. The Netherlands had possession again. This end to end business was not what the Germans were aiming for, so Benni put a stop to it quickly with a sliding tackle on Huntelaar. Jonas was there to receive the next pass and they were off again. They were  _not_ going to sit back.

Jonas, to Fips, to Sami, to Fips again, through to Thomas. Thomas shot off a pass to Toni after he received pressure from Dutch defenders. Toni was suddenly aware of the fact he had fewer passing options, and was thinking of passing back-

"HIER!" a cry met his ears. Jonas was sprinting towards the box, his arm raised. Without thinking twice, Toni crossed it to him. Jonas took his touch on the ball, Cilessen came out-

Van Dijk and De Ligt were there to immobilise him- Miro was there to take the heat off of him-

But Jonas did such a sharp turn that the centre-backs were left disorientated, demonstrating incredible close-control-

He shot with his left foot-

"TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!" the subs bench, and the fans, screamed.

Jonas was running away from goal, laughing, his arms raised in delight. Toni sprinted towards him, yelling in joy, as did Miro. The two collided into him just as the team ran towards them to celebrate their first goal. 

"THAT TURN! THAT FINISH!" Thomas roared, almost strangling Jonas in a hug. "UNGLAUBLICH! BANGERS ONLY!"

The Jonas fanclub on the bench were screaming, absolutely beside themselves, Jogi was clapping his approval, and Leon Kroos was yelling at his mother, "Look, Mama, it's Jonas! Jonas got a goal!"

"And Papa helped!" Jessica cheered.

"WHAT A GOAL! WHAT A GOAL! FROM A DEFENDER WHO IS NOT A STRIKER, BUT BY GOODNESS WHAT A STRIKE!" Julian Brandt, Draxler and Joshua cheered.

Arjen Robben wore an expression that was hard to define.

Jonas could hardly believe it. 1-0! As the team were forced to interrupt their raving about Jonas in favour of more mundane things, like continuing the match, he jogged back into position trying to stop his face from being split open.

It was game on in Amsterdam. Ronald Koeman regarded the scene, at the ease in which Germany seemed to have been tearing through his ranks, with apprehension. He could not deny that the goal that had been scored had been pretty much unstoppable, but there was something about the aura Germany were emitting that made him think the whole team were going to be unstoppable tonight. His jaw tightened as he watched his team set off once more. He was reminded of what Gary Lineker was now famous for saying:

_Football is a simple game -- 22 men chase a ball for 90 minutes and at the end, the Germans always win._

Not on Arjen Robben's watch. Yet again he was dribbling forwards, determination being part of the reason he was still dragging his corpse around in top-flight football. He was a sight to behold when was in his element- and the Dutch fans relished that sight. Jerome came out to meet him in the box, about to muscle the ball away from him, but he couldn't quite execute his tackle at the right time. Arjen charged forwards. There was Benni, and then Jonas-

Fuck. Hector was like a bullet and Arjen had to turn and pass to Huntelaar before he got dispossessed. Huntelaar ricocheted forwards, past his captain, this time-

Huntelaar, once the Bundesliga top goalscorer, was now faced against his  _former_ captain- Jesus Christ, how many captains did he have on the pitch today-

Manu was on the balls of his feet, knees bent,  _daring_ Huntelaar to take the shot-

He did. Manu dived to punch the ball away, right into the path of Arjen's boot- Arjen took the second swing-

But Manu did something truly bizarre. In an almost comedic fashion, he leapt upwards again, his arms splayed out so wide it looked like he was doing a star jump. The ball tipped off of his hand and over the bar. Netherlands corner.

"You looked like an idiot, there!" Arjen yelled furiously at Manu, as his team stalked off to carry out their set piece. The German bench were roaring with laughter, Leon admiring nonetheless. Thomas was cackling as he slapped his boyfriend on the shoulder, praising him for his brilliant imitation of a parachute. The German fans were screaming and screaming in delight, that was their Neuer! The Dutch were valiantly hoping that something would come from the corner.

The Netherlands took their corner, but it amounted to little- little but another German counter-attack. Fips managed to clear the ball out to Sneijder before the team could take another shot against Germany's goal and there was Basti to initiate the second counter-

"NEUKEN!" Arjen shouted as the whole team were sprinting forwards again. Mesut had the ball, and he avoided van Dijk magnificently- the centre-back wanted to ring up Unai Emery and ask him why he hadn't played Mesut against Liverpool in the 5-1 tie. Cilessen was readying himself once more, Mesut still had the ball-

 _Jesus Christ. When did Hector get this fast?_ Arjen thought to himself, as Jonas sped out once more. Miro was being vigorously marked by de Ligt, but Blind had lost his man. Mesut did an absolutely  _filthy_ flick around Wijnaldum-

"Fucking hell- what is going on?" Marco demanded, leaping to his feet, even as his knee flared at him for the sudden movement.

Nobody would ever truly be able to understand what on Earth had happened to Mesut Özil and Jonas Hector in the space of that second. Neither of them were sure what had happened themselves. Apparently, Jonas had summoned the finishing power of Robert Lewandowski, and Mesut had summoned a technical ability above Lionel Messi's, in order to make the next goal take place. Mesut's assist was so clean, so calculated, that it left Matthijis de Ligt looking utterly confused as the ball sailed over his head. Jonas' shot was so powerful that Cilessen didn't even have time to dive.

"SO- APPARENTLY- JONAS HECTOR  _IS_ A STRIKER?" Julian Brandt asked, clutching his face, utterly without words. "APPARENTLY HE IS JUST THE BEST PLAYER IN THE WORLD?"

"WHAT ABOUT THAT ASSIST!" Kai cried, pounding his fist in the air. "THAT'S MY QUEEN! MESUT ÖZIL, UN-FUCKING-PARALLELED!"

Sami seemed to share his sentiment. Although Jonas had been the one to score, he raced straight towards Mesut and actually lifted him off of his feet with his hug. Mesut was laughing in disbelief, clinging onto Sami just as tightly. The rest of the team were delirious. Toni was once again the first to reach Jonas, giving him a huge hug.

"Incredible!" was all he could say, shaking his head. "Absolutely incredible! How are you doing it?"

"Ich weiß nicht!" Jonas said breathlessly. His hand reached out to touch Toni's cheek, he wasn't even registering his own actions. "Ich weiß nicht!" 

Arjen would have liked an answer quickly. He didn't understand. Was this just to be one of those nights? 2-0 down to two incredible Hector goals- it was unprecedented. Bizarre. Although his team were responding quite nicely, pressuring Germany's backline despite Jerome's clean and quick defending and Benni's more no-nonsense tackling, it seemed like they were just being pushed up to their own box again. Miro, although he hadn't scored yet, was assisting in the hold-up play brilliantly and Germany looked dangerous every time they had the ball. The fans were in battle with each other now- the Dutch were still roaring, and the Germans were singing, and pounding their drums with more vigour by the second.

Cilessen carried out a magnificent save against Miro after another surge for goal, and Manu reciprocated at the other end by initiating a kick-save against his Bayern teammate after a free-kick piece that had the Dutch fans _sure_ the ball was going in. Arjen was starting to feel his frustration boiling over. Did the Germans have some sort of plot armour, or something, that meant they had to win everything?

When it reached half-time Jogi didn't really know what to say. His team had surpassed expectations. Everyone was jostling to get to Jonas and ask him what the fuck he had consumed at breakfast, and for once, the man wasn't overwhelmed by so much attention- he was laughing. Mesut and Sami were chanting rude words about Unai Emery and were jumping up and down together. Mario was hugging Miro, assuring him that he was bound to score soon- the striker had gotten unlucky all match so far, with his shots being saved or intercepted. There was a lot of general verbal abuse aimed at the Netherlands.

Marco watched them with one hand on his knee. How he would have loved to help create this joy.

"Hector, faultless. Müller, excellent work with the build-up play. Lahm, Boateng and Höwedes, you are really doing excellently at absorbing the pressure from their attack, although Neuer has had to make a few too many saves. Though it isn't easy to face Robben and Huntelaar," Jogi said, once everyone had quietened down somewhat. "All I can really say to you is,  _keep it up._ "

They were planning on doing just that. Back in the tunnel, Arjen was refusing to meet his Bayern teammates' gazes. 2-0 was the most dangerous lead. They could easily get back into the game. Hector would get tired eventually, from all the energy he was expending on his offensive exploits. It wasn't over.

The fans felt the same way. When the whistle blew once more and the teams set off again, they started off their bellowing again. Jessica had been dealing with Leon running around for the past hour or so- he was wearing his father's shirt, and all throughout half-time he had pretended that he was playing. But even she, in her tiredness, jumped up whenever Germany had the ball.

" _Hector vor, noch ein Tor! Hector vor, noch ein Tor! Hat-Trick! Hat-Trick!"_ the crowd cheered. " _Einer geht noch, einer geht noch rein!_ _So sehen Sieger aus, schalalalala…"_

Jonas listened to the chants in amazement. Yes, in Köln he heard the fans singing his name all the time, but hearing his name being treated like a prayer from the thousands of German away fans, in an international game, was unbelievable to him. They were acting as though he was on par with Miro, who was usually the recipient of the " _noch ein Tor_ " chants. As he ran along the pitch, he met Toni's eyes, shaking his head in disbelief, gesturing towards the crowd.

"This is how you're playing today!" Toni told him, everything about him laughing, his eyes, his mouth, his words. "You're amazing!"

On days like these, it was wonderful to be a footballer. The second half had begun almost exclusively in the Netherlands' box, and behind Cilessen's goal were their fans, screaming their approval. They were the picture of joy, so beautiful in their passion. Even the Dutch fans were still being magnificent, waving their flags, singing for the eleven players who still had a chance. There was teasing amongst the two sides, but there was no maliciousness, no sense that it was going too far. 

It was because of these fans and their own desires that the Oranje didn't give up. Arjen was acting as though this was the last game he was ever going to play- at any opportunity he got he was cruising forwards to try and get his side that goal to get them in the game. 

He was quickly learning to despise Jonas Hector. The left-back was quite literally everywhere he went. Jerome was also a natural thorn in his side, but the fact that Hector had been responsible for the two goals that had put his side down made Arjen's determination to get past him even stronger. At one point he managed it. He resolutely charged towards goal, excitement filling his chest-

There was a large groan from the Dutch fans behind Manu's goal. Arjen had hit the crossbar. Manu dived forwards to catch the ball before Huntelaar could race in to collect the rebound. You didn't get chances clearer than that, that was for fucking sure. Arjen was nearly convincing himself that it really was going to be one of those days.

" _EINER GEHT NOCH, EINER GEHT NOCH REIN-"_

 _"SO SEHEN SIEGER AUS, SCHALALALALA_ _-"_

It was incredible! The German bench were all so antsy that they couldn't stay sitting still- Kai leapt about six feet into the air whenever Mesut got a touch on the ball, and the Jonas fan brigade were even louder than the away crowd. Little Leon was pointing at his father, loudly informing his mother whenever he moved an inch-

And he seemed to have reached the stages of cult-hero worship for Jonas. It was official, the 2.Bundesliga left-back Jonas Hector was Leon Kroos' second-favourite hero. It was undoubtedly the finest night of the man's career. He sealed the deal for the night when, off of an assist from Basti, he chipped the ball into the back of the net, right past Cilessen's outstretched fingers.

For the first time in his life, Jonas Hector was trending on Twitter. Jonas didn't care about  _that,_ though. What he did care about was the fact that, for the first time, he was truly appreciating that Toni's eyes were a lovely shade of blue. Why had he never noticed that before?

Oh, and he wasn't thinking about any mistakes he had made. He wasn't finding something to pull down his performance. He was proud of himself. 

The bench were more than proud. They were almost frighteningly in raptures. As far as they were concerned, nobody would ever be able to pull off a performance of the same quality as Jonas Hector's group-stage show against the Netherlands in the Nations League again.

Arjen Robben was... Was he fuming? Was he dejected? He wasn't quite sure he wanted to dwell on his emotions. What he wanted to do was create a new one. Dortmund had thrown a 3-0 lead away in the last twelve minutes of a match, let alone the 4-0. Anything was possible in football. It wasn't over until it was over. 

He seemed so desperate to prove this that, against all the odds, after several more minutes of back-and-forth football, with the Germans constantly threatening Cilessen and the Dutch forcing a couple more saves out of Manu, he finally found a break again. The Bayern players, in scattered positions due to a well-done fake, seemed to have their worlds go into slow motion when they saw Arjen moving again. He was doing a run.

A run they all knew very well. 

Through the defence.

 _Boy, if you even think about it,_ Manuel Neuer thought. He didn't have time to think anything else. 

Left foot. Volley. Top corner. Clean sheet gone. The Dutch exploded into cheers as if they had scored the winning goal, and Manu just had to sigh. He had seen it coming. It was always coming, with Arjen.

"Suck my Wurst, you  _bad_ goalkeeper," Arjen crowed at Manu. "That was the most well-deserved goal there's ever been!"

"Hit the crossbar again," Manu said irritably.

 _2 goal difference._ _We've still got this,_ the Germans told each other with their looks. Indeed, Jogi, knowing they had to push for that final decisive goal, decided to make a little substitution. It might have been seen as a bold one, but for him it seemed perfectly reasonable.

Mesut, with his brilliant assist and good shift tonight, was getting a little tired. So when the board went up and Kai Havertz got ready to step onto the pitch, being cheered on by Julian, he jogged off the pitch with no complaint. The fans all applauded him wildly and Mesut returned their favour by clapping them himself. He joined Marco on the bench and couldn't stop grinning- it had been such a good night.

A 2 goal difference, and recent brilliant training performances, gave Jogi the feeling it was time for Kai to start in his first ever senior international game. Perhaps he was putting his faith into the Leverkusen youngster too early, maybe he should wait a little longer, but it was one of those nights where he got the feeling that anything was possible. Kai was  _talented._ He was  _disciplined._ He could get the job done.

Kai's expression when he entered the pitch was surprising. Everyone had expected him to be an absolute rocket, full of boyish excitement, but he actually looked quite calm. He raised a hand in greeting at his teammates when he approached and they all gave him a roar of approval. They all had faith in him. They would have had faith in the linesman jogging into join them at that moment, they were all feeling so united.

Arjen's consolation goal had given the Oranje an even further renewed vigour, and they sprinkled more attacks on Germany's defence. But Deutschland were a wall. Benni was there to stop his teammate from taking shots, Fips was there to intercept Arjen's through-balls and Jonas was there, obviously, to make their whole team want to scream.

And they weren't just difficult to surpass. They were difficult to  _stop._ Kai was so fast, so energetic, and made an instant impact. Tiredness should have reached the Germans by now but the boy offered a new resource of energy with the sheer hope he created with each one of his touches. Julian Brandt felt as though he was watching history unfolding before his eyes. His best friend was out there already showing the world there was a new midfielder on the scene.

Frenkie de who?

Germans liked to think that they had players who were simply efficient and winners at heart, rather than flashy and beautiful like the Brazilians. But truth be told they  _did_ have beauty within their ranks. In the passion, the cohesion and the understanding of the players. And Jonas Hector, of course. Jonas Hector was beauty personified.

It was probably overly romantic to view things so optimistically after one game, after his debut, but this was one of those games that, for the Germans, had been going almost perfectly, barring the consolation goal for Arjen. Bayern players, who hadn't quite been having the best time in the league at the moment, were fucking thrilled that they could experience the feeling of total domination again. The fans were watching their team win, win and win with beautiful, excitable football and the future was looking brighter by the second. 

Miro was thinking about that future even as he ran up and down the pitch. He hadn't played a bad game at all- if he had, he would have been subbed off by now. But just the sight of Kai Havertz's rampant effect on the pitch at  _nineteen years old_ reminded him that things moved forwards. After Michael's departure from the team, he had honestly believed he wouldn't see another player like him again. Yes, Kai's youthful presence didn't exactly make Miro feel as secure as he had done with his Mikey on the pitch, but he  _did_ feel as though good things were definitely coming.

 _I_ _miss you so much, sometimes, Mikey,_ he thought, absurdly, as he held the ball beneath his feet. This wasn't the time for these thoughts, but the mood around him was distracting him.  _How I would've loved to share a moment like this with you. How wonderful would you have been with all these other talents? You carried the national team for so long, and you never got to experience our best stage. You should be here instead of me._

Sometimes, things were labelled a 'twist of fate'. Arjen would have said that 'a fucking piss-take' was a more accurate term for it. Kai Havertz, on the edge of the box, with Miro deep within it with Cilessen right in front of him, did something with his foot that was exactly the same as what another player had done many years ago. His foot sliced through the air, meeting the ball in a volley. And Miro, having just been thinking that Kai's youthful presence didn't make him feel as secure as he had done with Michael, leapt up, met the ball in a header and knocked it into the back of the net, sealing the game once and for all.

Everything about the goal was the same. From the volley-assist to Miro jumping to head it in. To the sound of roaring fans, a swearing goalkeeper and even the same scoreline, 4-1. Miro would have put money on the fact he had been in the exact same position. For a moment after the goal he almost felt as though he had whiplash, he didn't even move, until he felt his teammates leaping on him. He forgot all about the game he was in.

He had just travelled about ten years into the past. It was improbable. Kai had just assisted Miro in the same way as Michael had done. Even the  _scoreline_ was the same. Was Miroslav Klose's career just going to be full of happy little accidents like this? Just like that Brazil goal, or the number of shirt number appearances he had had when he had won the World Cup. Some things just linked up so perfectly.

Or was this a message to him? 

_Things move forwards. But some things always linger._

***

_Private chat between Michael Ballack and Miroslav Klose_

**Michael:** That was an amazing game, Miro! Great goal as per usual

 **Michael:** The assist from Havertz brought back memories :)

 **Michael:** Can you call me when you can? I have something to tell you!!

***

The atmosphere following the match was exultant. Everyone was singing, jumping up and down and dancing as they made their way into the changing rooms. Jonas received seven marriage proposals, from five individual players and Thomas twice, in the space of five minutes. He was by far the man of the match. Kai and Miro were also being lauded by their teammates, Kai's assist actually gaining him a grudging handshake from Leon. 

Jogi couldn't believe it. A 4-1 win, with a hat-trick for his left-back, who had played the game of his life, and Miro and Kai's combined goal? They  _deserved_ to celebrate. Germany had put on a fine performance- and Jonas had established himself even more as Jogi's favourite today. 

The Bavarian singing began again. It was almost as if they were all drunk, drunk off of their own euphoria. Mesut and Sami tap-danced around the room, Mesut's assist to Jonas's second goal surely must have reached Unai Emery by now. Jonas was being asked to recount everything he had been thinking on the pitch- the man stammered and mumbled, and that seemed to be as good to his admirers as him giving a glorious speech. Miro was telling Kai all about how Michael Ballack had assisted him on the pitch in the exact same way many years ago, and that he was already living up to expectations.

Thomas was imitating Manu's parachute-like save on the pitch. If the ball had gone in because of his strange movement, Manu would have probably been gritting his teeth, but instead he was laughing joyously.

Jubilation couldn't describe how they all felt at the moment.

But just then, Marco’s voice rang out and startled everyone.

“Oh, Jesus!”

Jerome looked up from where he was wrestling happily with Toni and over at Marco, who was looking down at his phone, his face contorted by a wince of horror. The man did not give any explanation straight away for his sudden exclamation, so after a few moments people returned to their celebrations, under the assumption it was just Marco being overdramatic about something silly again, probably about the fact that Benni had had a good game today. Mario, however, full of concern after the events of this morning, went over to him at once to see what was wrong. Marco tilted the phone to show him what had shocked him so much.

It took a while for Mario to understand what he was seeing. But when he did he gasped and put his hands over his mouth. "No fucking way."

Marco shook his head wordlessly, looking utterly disbelieving. Thomas walked over to them, frowning in confusion, but before his lips could form the question,  _what's wrong,_ Marco showed him the screen too. Thomas peered at the words, frowning- and then he closed his eyes as if he had been hurt by what he was seeing.

"Tell him," he said, after he had pinched the bridge of his nose. "Jesus, that's so fucking... Christ alive. I don't even know what to say."

Mario didn't want to say anything. It fell to Marco to look over the changing room and call out, "Jerome!"

Toni slapped Jerome's arms away just as Marco said his name. The centre-back, still laughing at how out of his depth his friend was in their tussles, waved at Marco.

"What's up?" he asked.

Marco beckoned him over. He was trying not to make things too obvious, but Fips' antennae had been tingling from the first shout and Toni, of course, followed Jerome across the room. Now there was a small huddle of players, Jerome looking expectant and Mario, Thomas and Marco looking as though someone had died.

"What is it?" Jerome demanded. "You're worrying me, now, what's happened?"

"Robert's game," Marco said quietly. "Poland versus Italy."

Jerome suddenly looked horrified.

"Don't feel guilty!" Marco said quickly, knowing exactly what Jerome was thinking. "It's not your fault you forgot. You've just come off of a massive win. I would've forgotten as well if I hadn't got the fucking score update."

"Oh my God. Show me, what is it?" Jerome said, actually looking on the verge of tears. Marco didn't delay any longer- but he was almost dreading Jerome's reaction. He showed Jerome the score.

 _Italy- 2 Poland- 0_  
_Shots: 5 Shots: 3_  
_On target: 3 On target: 0_  
_Scorers:  
__L.Insigne '45+1_  
_R.Lewandowski (OG) '87_

Jerome started to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really hope i included enough own goal references in the leadup to this chapter
> 
> man the game ended so abruptly im so sorry france will be better lol
> 
> poland nt is by no means this bad this is fanfic DRAMATISATION and robert single-handedly carries his country to tournaments i know but... YKNOW
> 
> yes i circlejerked about grmany i am a sad german
> 
> bartels and rethy are commentators and are the most annoying anti-bayern men in the world. scholl is a former player who criticised mario gomez and is just genuinely annoying.
> 
> on a more serious note, idk if it seems like im making robert's poland struggles too ldramatic, but i should say that footballers, well some footballers and the ones i know and my tema (basically a LOT and the ones who pretend to be cool and detached really are putting on a facade for the public we get anxious as shit lol), we really punish ourselves for mistakes, we get nervous, we're human. panic attacks can hit even the strong robert lewandowski. plus dressing room atmosphere can go to shit so quickly. likewise games really are super fucking emotional. i suggest you read di maria's tribune article it's so lovely he talks a bit about it. like seriously i have broken down in tears after games for the smallest things and it can be a wild mix of emotions and i'm explaining it reALLYYYY badly but u know what that's how it goes. also i cry so much for my boyfriend lol it really do be like that
> 
> jonas had to have a good game at least... this is only stage one in the most dramatic international break ever guys don't even get me started on france


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 15!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS SO LONG AGAIN WTF
> 
> servus leute! boy i reread last chapter and i was literally drunk and it was midnight when i posted it. when i reread it i just wanted to die??? it's so badly paced and weird but wahey time to move on and hopefully make things better with this one!!! i am such a perfectionist i have to remind myself this is literally fanfiction and nobody is a literary critic here lmao you all would be so supportive even if i put out a 30 word chapter with every word mispelled i love u guys, you're here for the tea only <333
> 
> it's another 5th chapter, and chapter 60! what the fuck??? so here we are with another dedication! this one goes to fivesecrets aka alex!! the name change gave me whiplash at first lmao. you are such a fun person to talk to and so funny! i am writing this note before the liverpool match so if this chapter gets posted before then i can safely say we are still friends. if it gets posted after i'll edit this note depending on the result :P
> 
> auf geht's!

_Private chat between Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng_

**Jerome:** please please call me when u can

_Incoming call from Jerome Boateng._

_Call failed._

**Jerome:**  u probably can't call right now but when you can please 

_Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Wojciech Szczęsny_

**Jerome:** please tell me it wasn't that bad

 **Wojciech:** I'm sorry Jeri, I can't lie to you, it was fucking dire

 **Wojciech:** He wasn't the only one who was bad but he missed the biggest sitter I've ever seen in my life and gave away the possession for their first goal

 **Wojciech:** Don't even want to talk about the own goal

 **Jerome:** oh my god

 **Jerome:** he's going to be in such a state, he was already saying he couldn't do anything right this morning, he's going to think it was all on him

 **Jerome:** have you talked to him???

 **Wojciech:** I'm not with the team and nobody's answered my calls or texts

 **Wojciech:** They might be getting eviscerated by Jerzy right now, no idea I'll tell you if he texts me but he'll probably talk to you first

 **Jerome:** okay, by the way i'm sorry about your injury :(( i hope you're recuperating okay

 **Wojciech:** I'd rather be injured than be part of the team that was out there tonight

Jerome closed his eyes. Toni had an arm around Jerome's shoulder and Marco was scrolling through some of the reactions to Poland's match on another bench. He had received texts from the Dortmund group chat that gave him a very good idea of how his former teammate had played today, but he couldn't bring himself to laugh, he just couldn't. It wasn't at all funny, watching the replay for the own goal that had led Robert to clutch his head with his hands, looking horrified.

The news of the result had spread across the changing room and the Bayern players all couldn't believe what they were hearing. Mats went to sit by Jerome, knowing how nervous Robert had been recently, and how he was probably beating himself to a pulp with self-reproach right now. He could relate, after all, mistakes haunted him for days after matches. Fips thought perhaps he would have to have a captainly little chat with Robert about this, when the man was receptive to it. Joshua and Niklas, along with Manu and Thomas, were wincing in sympathy as they too looked through the match reports on the game. Basti was saying to Lukas, "Oh, no, poor Robert, and after that last terrible game, he must be feeling so bad. He still has to face Portugal again!"

When Jerome heard this, he actually had to bury his head in Mats' shoulder. Poland still had to face  _Portugal,_ after tonight's disaster, and they had lost their first game against them by a much worse margin. He could only imagine how calm and measured Robert would be walking into  _that_ match, especially when his self-esteem was so low right now.

Robert's setback didn't dim the fact that the Germans were still euphoric over their own match. They felt sympathy, of course, but they quickly reminded themselves that  _they_ were currently the top of their group in League A and were most likely going to eviscerate France as well as their rivals. The players who didn't know Robert as well just continued dancing about their success tonight, Kai still being spinned around in circles by the Julians, while Leon watched grudgingly. Jonas was being pressured by Marc-Andre and Bernd to decide who would have played better out of the two of them if they had played tonight, as they claimed he was officially a football god, and knew everything about the game.

"We should go and talk to Arjen," Thomas said, once the Bayern players had finished their sympathetic cringing over the Polish result. "Let him know there's no hard feelings, eh? He looked pretty pissed after the final whistle."

"Yes, we probably should," Fips said, casting a look at the dejected looking Jerome. "Let's try and tone down any excessive bragging, hm? Or we're liable to repeat the head slapping incident of a few years ago. Jerome, do you want to come?"

Jerome sighed, stowing his phone away in his pocket. "No, I'll go and see Jessica and little Leon with Toni. I never get to see Leon, really, and I see Arjen all the time. I'll bully him back at training. Tell him I said he's a bald fraud."

"You do get to see Leon, I'm right here, bro. I know we haven't been spending as much time as we usually do-" Leon said, approaching the group.

"Oh, shut up," Manu said, slapping Leon upside the head.  "Let's go and say hi, or  _ha,_ to Arjen."

Mats stood up, giving Jerome another pat on the shoulder. He glanced over to where Marco was staring down at his phone with a frown, and then away again. 

"Any formerly or presently Bayern affiliated players want to come and see Arjen with us?" Thomas called. Mario Gomez, Götze and Miro shrugged, going to join them along with the rest of the Bayern squad.

It was almost like an expedition, the group of half-dressed Germans going to find the other changing room. After the Ajax Champions League game Fips  _would_ have expected them to remember where the home dressing room was, but after a while of Thomas leading the way he realised the man had no idea where he was going. 

"This is why we don't let you do anything," Fips informed Thomas, pushing the lanky forward out of the way and taking charge, as he should have done from the beginning. Thomas threw his hands up in the air in confusion.

They reached the home dressing room, where the stadium security staff looked a little confused to see them. But they recognised that the ragtag group of men were the football players the Netherlands had faced off against today, so they gestured for Fips to knock.

"If it's who I think it is, I don't want to talk to any of you ever again!" Arjen's voice yelled from inside the changing room.

The Germans took that as a cue to enter.

They received plenty of dirty looks from the Dutch players as they entered the room, but they couldn't have cared less, they had eyes for Arjen and Arjen only. The Germans formed a line and all of them took turns hugging him, as he tried to wriggle free. Eventually he gave in and grudgingly slapped everyone on the shoulder.

"No hard feelings?" Fips said, once he gave his hug. 

"Lots of hard feelings. Feelings that are as solid as a rock. If you knocked on my feelings it would  _hurt_ because they're so hard," Arjen informed him. He tended to ramble when he was grumpy, losing his fairly sensible demeanour. In this way he was like James, whose saltiness knew no bounds in situations like these. James was probably salty right _now_ , given that Germany had won. "I hope the cameras got a close-up on your face looking stupid, so he-"

"Football's football," Fips said loudly, and Arjen smirked. "You win some, you lose some."

"And the Netherlands lost!" Thomas chimed in. He had evidently been holding back his crowing, but when he saw Arjen wasn't really  _upset,_ just petty, he struck. "Van Dijk and de Ligt no match for Jonas Hector and Miroslav Klose, as we all been knew-"

Manu elbowed Thomas, but van Dijk and de Ligt were on the other side of the room wallowing in glumness, so they didn't hear him.

"Miroslav wasn't good. He was just lucky," Arjen said.

"What do you mean, Miro wasn't good? Did you not see how sharp that header was-" Mario Gomez began. Miro didn't seem to have even heard the drag.

"But Hector... Er war klasse," Arjen continued, ignoring Mario. "That's got to be one of the best games I've ever seen from him. Why the hell is he in the 2.Bundesliga?"

"He's a loyal person," Joshua said proudly. "He bleeds his club colours. You'll never find a person more dedicated than Jonas."

"You'll never find anyone  _like_ Jonas," Niklas corrected him.

"He is above all of us," Leon finished.

Arjen gave them a weird look. "Why do you  _always_ talk about him? The only interaction I ever had with him was after the game we beat them 3-1 and I accidentally got in his way when we were walking off the pitch and _he_ apologised to _me._ By the way, do you remember that 3-1 game, Niklas-?"

"Stop," Niklas said slowly and carefully, and they were all suddenly aware of what a big man he was. "We do not talk about that game." 

Leon suddenly looked eager, totally ignoring Niklas' menacing expression. "Oh, yeah, I watched that game! That was the game where Niklas scored an  _own goal-_ "

"Yours was worse, don't even try it," Basti said, slapping him upside the head, as Niklas seized him into a headlock. Manu's sudden burning gaze as he remembered the OGTFU had Leon instantly moving behind Fips.  Arjen laughed heartily.

"At least I have never been that much of a clown. That is going to be my comfort," Arjen said, patting his heart. "Hey, speaking of clowns, where is Jerome? I thought he and Mats were going to bombard me, saying they were the reason we didn't score past them more."

"I didn't play because I have a  _cold._  No other reason. And Benni popped off anyway," Mats enunciated slowly, and Arjen grinned at him. "And he wanted to go and see Toni's kid, he told us to tell you you're a bald fraud."

"Fair and valid."

"But Arjen," Mats continued. "Did you see Lewy's result today?"

Arjen looked around at all of them slowly. He remembered the 6-0 and the red. "From the expressions on your faces, I can tell it wasn't good."

"It was worse than that. 2-0 to Italy. Own goal for Robert at the eighty seventh minute," Mario Götze said. Arjen's eyes widened. "Marco showed me the video, Jesus, when will he ever have a good international game?"

There was a moment of solemn silence, as though they were all praying for Robert. Then Thomas had to ruin it all by turning to Arjen and attacking him with a hug, saying:

"The real question is, when will  _you_ ever have a good international game?"

***

"Hey, Jonas."

Jonas, who had so far not been allowed a single second for himself following the match, looked up from his temporary respite from where Marc-Andre and Bernd had finally left him alone and saw that Toni was in front of him, with Jerome. The left-back was currently in a state where he wasn't really thinking comprehensively, so Toni's two-word greeting had him inexplicably blushing.

"Hi, Toni," he said, smiling nervously at the man who had assisted his first goal. Toni smiled back. "Thank you for your help tonight, you were amazing. And Jerome, so were you. I'm sorry about Robert. If anything, I stand by what I said this morning..."

"Thanks," Jerome said gruffly. He still looked despairing, the thought of his boyfriend's self-reproach making him want to cry again.  "It'll be difficult to get to him, but what you said was right. I'll never stop reminding him of it."

"Just like Leon will never stop reminding me of how you performed today," Toni said lightly. Jonas went even more red. "I don't want to impose on you or anything, but he's been really excited about seeing you- you wouldn't mind coming with us to see him, would you? Just to say hi, even- you don't have to stay long."

Jonas looked as though Toni had told him he was going to receive the Ballon D'Or. "He w-wants to see me?"

"Yeah," Toni chuckled, blushing a little himself. "You've become something of a hero to him recently."

"I'm his bigger hero though," Jerome told Jonas. "Just to remind you."

"Oh-oh, yeah, of course, Jerome," Jonas mumbled. "Sure, Toni, I'd love to see Leon."

Jerome didn't quite understand why Toni's face had gone so red. Jupp Heynckes would have been impressed.

He would have been more impressed, however, by the shade of red Jonas's face went when they saw Jessica and Leon, waiting for them in the VIP hospitality area of the Johan Cruyff Arena. Jessica looked more tired than Leon, having him sat on the bar playing with a toy car, while she sipped on a drink. When she saw the two of them, she waved joyfully, and Leon cheered.

"Weltmeister!" Jessica called, getting out of her seat and helping Leon down to the ground. The boy charged at his father at once, colliding into his knees. "You guys were amazing, today! A little too amazing, considering this one isn't going to sleep!"

"Brilliance comes at a cost," Toni said, lifting Leon up and kissing the top of his head. "Speaking of brilliance... this is Jonas Hector, Jess."

Jonas went even redder.

"I know who he is, idiot. I was one of the people chanting his name tonight," Jessica said with a grin. She extended a hand to him. "But we haven't met formally yet. You probably know me as the one who has been keeping Toni's life from falling apart all these years, Jessica Farber-"

"I beg to differ," Jerome muttered. "Were you there when he thought gel made his hair look good? If you haven't been with him through that, you haven't been with him through anything."

"The fact you _let_ him wear his hair like that shows you haven't been as important to his development as a person than I have-"

"Or you could have been a normal person and just introduced yourself as Jessica Farber. That was an option," Toni sighed. Leon wasn't listening to the adults' conversations and had insisted that Jerome take him into his arms. "Instead you drag me. Thanks for your help, Jess."

"Sorry, sorry, you're right. Jonas, hi, it's good to talk to you for the first time," Jessica said, as Jonas shook her hand. 

"Hah... hello, Miss Farber, it's nice to meet you too," Jonas mumbled.

"Miss Farber? Jesus Christ, call me Jess," Jessica said, shuddering in horror. 

"I'm sorry..." Jonas said, looking a little worried, and Toni rolled his eyes as Leon jumped from Jerome's shoulders to his.

"And no need to apologise either. After how you performed tonight you're exempt from literally any criticism for the rest of your life," Jessica chuckled. "In Leon's eyes, anyway. What did you say to me about him, little lion, do you remember?"

She addressed Leon, who had been climbing his father's head. Leon looked taken aback at all the attention that had suddenly hit him, and when he saw Jonas was looking at him with an expectant smile, he fell down behind his father's back, hiding.

"I said he was  _fantastisch,_ " he mumbled. Jonas laughed and placed his hand on his chest, giving a little curtsey.

"Can't get a more valid opinion than that. You've got to believe it now, Jonas," Jerome told Jonas, who was shaking his head. "My little bro has taken influence from me, the best role model in the world, therefore he knows what he's talking about."

Jessica gave Jerome a skeptical look. "I caught you giving him a glass of Coke just before his bedtime. What role model?"

"Oh, God, you're still holding that against me? I thought Coke Zero wouldn't be bad for him!"

The two of them started bickering. Jonas, meanwhile, was finding it difficult to make eye contact with a two year old. Toni was holding Leon against his hip, now, and was laughing at Jess and Jerome's antics. Leon was looking at Jonas with his thumb in his mouth, a curious expression his face. Jonas smiled at him. Leon smiled back.

And then the inexplicable happened. Leon, who usually clung to people he was explicitly familiar with and nobody else, reached out his arms, as if asking Jonas,  _take me._

Toni looked down at his son in surprise and then at Jonas, who looked taken aback. Then he smiled and offered Leon to him.

With the air of someone who was cradling a dynamite, Jonas took Leon from Toni's arms, almost looking as though he needed permission for it. Leon's arms went around Jonas's neck and he rested his head on Jonas' shoulder. Jessica, who had just clapped a hand over Jerome's mouth just as he had been about to swear, noticed the display, and her mouth actually fell open. She looked at Toni for an explanation.

 _He likes him,_ Toni mouthed, looking puzzled himself, but smiling, as Jonas held Leon with a tender look on his face. 

Jessica could tell. But what she couldn't understand was, how come Leon had taken to him so quickly? She gave a half-look at Jerome, who was looking at Toni curiously.

Perhaps... Perhaps Leon could tell that his father liked Jonas, and that was why he had given his trust to the man so quickly?

***

To celebrate, instead of going straight back to the hotel, they decided they should all go and get a drink at a Dutch bar (although Kai had been ordered to go nowhere near alcohol by Jogi and the mother hens on the squad). They were strictly forbidden to get overly intoxicated, although that didn't stop Thomas from ordering shots and encouraging Jerome, Mario Götze and Manu to join him, stating that his special hangover drink would fix any regrets in the morning.

Given the fact Jerome prided himself on having never been hungover for a day in his life, and that Thomas, Mario and Manu would have never listened to him anyway, Fips decided to let them have their fun. Jerome probably needed a bit of distraction, anyway, to stop him anxiously checking his phone over and over again to see if Robert had texted him yet. He got the feeling the Polish striker probably wouldn't have wanted to talk to anyone tonight, and it wouldn't do for Jerome to drive himself crazy worrying over him. Jerome should enjoy their win, he thought. And not feel guilty.

Miro had decided to head to the hotel with Mario instead of joining them in the bar- Miro, because he was a tired old man, who was wiped out after the match, and Mario, because he wanted to be with Miro. Everyone else was exhausted too, but they were all having a lot of fun nonetheless.  Toni, Joshua, Lukas, Basti, Julian Draxler and Niklas had started a conga line with Jonas leading the way, the left-back blushing as they all sang his name to the tune of It's Time for Africa (they somehow made it work). Benni and Mats were sitting with Leon, who was on his phone whilst Fips glared at him, and Kai and Julian Brandt, who both looked sleepy. Mesut and Sami were with Bernd and Marc-Andre, sniping at each other over something that was probably petty.

Marco was sitting by himself, in front of the bar, staring down at his untouched beer. Mario had been with him until he had been invited to join Manu, Thomas and Jerome- Marco had waved him off, saying that he should enjoy himself, and not be stuck with him. It was clear he didn't want to talk much anyway. Mario had given Marco a kiss that had been reciprocated only half-heartedly.

He felt better sitting on the edge of the scene of cheeriness rather than in the middle of it. He didn't have the energy to throw jokes around about how Benni had let Arjen past him, or about Manu's weird looking save- he didn't feel like drinking either. At the same time, he didn't want to mope around and attract people's worry. He didn't want people asking him how he was, or giving him sympathy for being unable to play again, or looking at him twice, thinking,  _Marco's_ upset? Over something so small? Big, tough Marco, who saw himself as God's gift even when he was sidelined doing nothing-?

Marco reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone in a bid to distract himself, his mind travelling almost unwillingly to Robert. He had been thinking on and off about his former friend since they had left the stadium. The Dortmund group chat were revelling in his failures, but Marco felt something within him stir again, just like it had done during that first match against Portugal. He knew Robert must have been feeling hopeless, like he could never do anything with Poland. He remembered the conversations they had had back at Dortmund, Robert declaring he wanted to be a great Polish footballing hero, Marco saying too that he was going to strike joy into the hearts of German fans-

He placed his phone on the table.  _He didn't want to think about it._

He sighed, reaching forwards to take a sip of his drink, the cacophony around him sounding like it was coming from so far away. He placed one hand on his forehead and stared carefully down at the wood of the counter. 

Then he felt a presence behind him, and saw a shadow cast against the light shining on the counter. Marco looked at the shadow and then turned his head slightly.

"Hey," Mats said.

Marco simply looked at him. He wanted to say something harsh, to tell Mats to leave him alone, but instead he just turned his gaze towards his beer again.

"Hi," he muttered.

Mats took the stool next to Marco. "One beer, please," he said in the English he was so proud of- he usually bragged after saying so much as a word in the other language, but this time he just remained quiet.

They sat in silence as Mats waited for his beer. Marco put his glass to his lips and kept sipping. Dutch beer wasn't quite the same as the hearty stuff of the Rhine, but drinking it gave him something to do.

"What is it this time?" Mats asked, after these several moments of quiet.

Marco couldn't help himself- he laughed. He started doing a mute version of head, shoulders knees and toes, clutching his ankle at the end of it, and Mats chuckled.

Back when they had been at Dortmund together, after every time Marco picked up an injury, whenever Mats saw him he would always say the same thing.  _"What is it this time?_ "And Marco would always do heads, shoulders, knees and toes. He had gotten a concussion from being hit by a ball straight to the face, he had pulled a shoulder muscle, he had ruptured his knee ligament or had broken his big toe. It was always something. After the World Cup 2014, Marco had added a new step to his choreography- he would grab his ankle at the end of it.

This time, he gestured at his knee. 

"The ligament rupture from last season acting up again?" Mats asked matter-of-factly, thanking the barman when he received his beer.

"Yeah. Along with a strain in the muscles of my brain, too," Marco told him. "Each injury stretches them tighter and tighter, until eventually my mind will snap like a stale breadstick. Though I don't think I'm injured this time, shock horror. I'm just in pain. Geiger knocked me in the last match before the international break."

"He is a bit of a dirty cunt," Mats agreed, sipping his beer thoughtfully. "What did Volker tell you? Are you pulling out of the team?"

"Not yet," Marco said. "He said to wait until the doctors give a verdict on whether I should play. If they say playing won't affect my knee further, or do some voodoo to fix it, then I should take their painkillers and be ready to be on the pitch. If they say I should rest it, then I guess I'll be going home." 

"The physio is always under pressure from the coach to send a player out on painkillers, even if it kills them," Mats said distastefully. "I don't think Jogi would push for that, though."

"I  _want_ him to do it," Marco said flatly. "I want to fucking play."

Mats gave Marco a look. "You can't risk your knee even further. Not like that stupid shit you pulled with that hamstring pull, where you ended up being pulled out for even longer than you would've been if you had just rested. Ha, that was so stupid. Jurgen lost his shit at you for being reckless and you just told him,  _hell, Coach, I would have gotten injured right after I recovered from the hamstring one anyway. I'm still taking the same amount of time out._ "

"How do you even remember that?" Marco scoffed, finishing off his beer, hiding his smile in his glass. "I was right, though. As I always am. I'm so tired of being on the bench for the National Team. I rarely get the chance to ever play in the squad anyway, goddamn it, Joshua has more fucking caps than me. Anyway, what do you care if I get injured anyway, Hummels? It'd surely be music to your ears, hearing that I was pulling out of the squad and the Bundesliga, too."

"Don't be fucking stupid," Mats said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I've never wanted you to be hurt, and I never will want you to be hurt. The only time I've ever felt like you deserved pain was when you were playing barefoot football with that crusty lemon and got it stuck up your big toe. That was _justice_."

"Jesus Christ, that was years ago!" Marco laughed. "How do you remember  _that?_ "

"The same way you remember it," Mats said. "We were best friends, Marco, and we had pretty memorable times together."

Marco's smile faded. 

"Another beer, please," he told the bartender. Mats looked down.

Benni was watching the two of them as though they were a mildly interesting TV show, from where he was sitting in his own chair. Kai and Julian had fallen asleep, Kai's head resting on Julian's shoulder, and Fips had given up trying to make conversation with Leon, instead going to make a phone call outside. Mats had simply stood up and left Benni's side, saying,  _I'm going to talk to the bastard, look how miserable he looks, I have a chance to make it worse for him._

Benni had seen the concern in his eyes.

He was suddenly surprised by a tap on the shoulder as he watched Marco and Mats talk from across the room, thinking about what a fraud his boyfriend was. He glanced up and saw Mario Götze looking at him with a curious sort of expression on his face- one torn between cheeriness and nervousness. His face was very flushed, and he was gesticulating with a little more force than necessary.

"Hi, Benni!" Mario said, in an almost conspiratorial whisper. "Mind if I sit here?"

"Of course not," Benni said, gesturing to the empty seat where Mats had been sitting before. Mario patted Benni's cheek and sat down in an ungainly fashion, almost missing the chair entirely. "Mario, are you-"

"Drunk?" Mario said very quickly, once he collected himself and made sure he was actually sitting down properly. He threw his head back and laughed. "Well, I started doing shots with Thomas, Manu and Jeri, but then I decided that I should probably cap myself because of training tomorrow- I don't want to be _totally_ hungover. What you're currently looking at is three drink Mario!"

He gestured at himself with a theatrical beam. Benni surveyed his reddening face and nodded thoughtfully.

"So, what personality trait do you have at _three_ drinks?" he asked, in a businesslike tone. "Mats says one drink Mario likes dancing, two drink Mario is a bit of a perv, four drink Mario is touchy Mario, who lashes out at everything, and five drink Mario is vastly overconfident Mario. What is three drink Mario?"

"Great question!" Mario said in a strangled voice. "I didn't know two drink Mario was a perv, you learn something new about yourself every day. But anyway, three drink Mario! Judging by past experiences, and how I feel now, three drink Mario is... sad Mario!"

There were tears suddenly dwelling in Mario's eyes.

"Oh, shit," Benni said, reaching out to take hold of Mario's shoulder as the man suddenly covered his mouth with his hand. "What's wrong? Sad Mario shouldn't be here on such a good night..."

"Oh, sad Mario is always here after three drinks no matter how happy the night is!" Mario said in a very high-pitched voice. Which was strange to hear, because usually Marco's voice was higher. "And also when I have self-doubts. Lots and lots of self-doubts. Mountains of them, really. Higher than the ones Marco and I climbed for our second relationship anniversary. I hate mountains!"

Aha. So this was about Marco. Benni offered Mario a glass of water as the tears in Mario's eyes spilled over.

"Three drink Mario is also stupid Mario!" Mario tried to joke, wiping his eyes. "Stupid, insecure Mario!"

"Hey, come on. The only time you're stupid is when you where black and yellow," Benni said consolingly. "What's happened? Are you and Marco okay?"

"I  _think_ so," Mario said in a small voice. "But then again, it's bold of me to assume I know anything about us at all."

He finished the water as though it was life-sustaining. When he had finished it, he looked even sadder to see his glass was empty.

"Benni, you think Mats and Marco are basically the same person, right?" he said, after a few moments.

"I do think they're more similar than they like to let on. Horrifying for me, I know," Benni said carefully, not quite sure where this question was going.

Mario gave a wet giggle.

"Does Mats tell  _you_ anything?" he asked timidly. "Does he tell you how he feels?"

Benni looked at Mario's expression and thought 'Sad Mario' was an apt description of his current state.

"Sometimes he tries not to, out of pride," Benni said carefully. "But I know what gets under his skin. I can sense it from his behaviour, when he's quiet instead of bragging, or from what he says. So he knows there's no use hiding it from me. He knows I want the best for him, and he knows I care about him more than anything."

Mario thought about this carefully.  _He knows I care about him more than anything._

"Does Marco not know that about me?" he asked in a small voice. "Because he never says anything to me. He hasn't really told me about his problems straight on for a few years. I usually have to press them out of him."

Mario seemed to be expecting an answer. His gaze was fixed on the floor but his shoulders were tense.  _Please tell me he knows I care._

"Mats and Marco might be similar, but they're not the same, Mario," Benni said gently. "Our relationships work in different ways. I don't know what Marco thinks. What I do know is that he's a proud person and likes to be seen as strong. I'm sure it's not you."

At the same time, his gaze shifted to where Manu was drinking joyfully with Thomas. The bond the former Schalke keeper and the centreback had shared in Gelsenkirchen probably couldn't be described with a word as simple as 'friendship', but after Manu had moved to München, their relationship had changed indefinitely. Marco and Mats, Marco and Robert... There may have been something a little more than pride in Marco's silence.

But Benni couldn't tell Sad Mario that. Instead he went to go and get the man some more water, as Mario slumped his head onto the table.

***

_Private chat between Serge Gnabry and Leon Goretzka_

**Serge:** byo it really looks like the germans are the only bayern players happy on this day

 **Serge:** did u fucking see lewy's result?

 **Leon:** jesus yeah it was terrible jerome literally cried, when i saw it i viscerally cringed

 **Leon:** wtf has happened to poland

 **Leon:** what were the other results???

 **Serge:** i don't blame him i saw that own goal it was fucking terrible, so unlucky too. and he gave away possession so badly for insigne's goal. lewy had such a bad night

 **Serge:** i saw some highlights and i literally can't comprehend why poland look so bad with their players being good. the spaghetti heads didn't even look good at all insigne got lucky with a banger and then there was the own goal :(

**Serge:**

**Serge:** me with lewy

 **Serge:** oh croatia won, 3-1 lmao xabi scored for spain, rakitic mandzukic and perisic scored for croatia,  ramos got a red card and javi got them the offside flag during one of spain's best moves of the night

 **Serge:** subsasicic pulled off a crzay save off a costa pen, it was INSPIRED. other than that and the red it was a boring game but it's always boring with spain

 **Leon:** subsasicic

 **Leon:** i bet james rodriguez is grinning ear from ear right now, sergi where are the VIDEOS of his petty ass

 **Leon:** ramos red card is just par for the course in a game of football for the spanish NT, is he close to his record? 

 **Leon:** javi thooo :((( he's such a sweetie he doesn't deserve the offside flag

 **Serge:** boy u don't even know how james rodriguez is acting right now, if i videod it ur phone would cobmust from the levels of childishness

 **Serge:** he is acting like craotia's win has sealed the end of his career he is so salty that it puts a tear in my eye

 **Serge:** ramos is one card off the all time record for the spanish NT

 **Serge:** javi was good it was just that while spain painted a pretty picture with their 800 passes croatia were actually attacking

 **Serge:** that game was nothing on us, dman what did u guys do to jonas during the match his touches were filthy and so were his goals

 **Leon:** lmaoooo good it serves him right for his aaduacity and him being rude about germany

 **Leon:** ramos is a record-breaker as well as a leg breaker! javi martinez, the sweetest man alive, who once gave me his umbrella when it was raining because i had a cold and walked BARE AND EXPOSED, should not be on the same team as him

 **Leon:** do NOOOOOT get me started jonas hecking hector he was incredible tonight really, he is so versatile he can double as a fucking striker CAM and winger now apparently, he was so on form ive never seen him like that he really had some aaduacious goals

 **Serge:** i hate u leo i can't type ok

 **Serge:** jonas is so underraed hes got to be top 10 leftbacks in the world when on form

 **Leon:** also havertz assisting >:((( he had no business being that good, of COOOOURSEEEE jogi subs him on for mesut and he goes and fucking proves how good he is immediately

 **Serge:** hey if you were playing u'd be on the same level even better leo

 **Serge:** maybe you'll play against france, who knows, you'll get ur chance to play soon, the team were so fit yesterday subs weren't really needed

 **Serge:** what was up with marco?? is he injured, i thought given his form in the bundesliga he'd start

 **Leon:** awe sergi stop ur going to make my 'grimly stoic' face blush

 **Leon:** i have no idea actually, he might just not be fit or suffered a lil knock, but it's marco and hes always injured

 **Serge:** hahahaha fips saying that was both a viloation and true, you really do have a total poker-face when u want to

 **Serge:** a pretty face too :)

 **Serge:** man i just feel something beyond sympathy for marco. if he's out for dortmund then they're fucked

 **Leon:** wtf sergi im not pretty. i have wierd teeth. ur prettier and ur hair pops

 **Leon:** is really sad man i gotta say :(

 **Serge:** bitch shut up

 **Serge:** hair, bone structure, you've got it all, you are a very handsome man

 **Leon:** i-

**Leon:**

**Serge:** wait i take it back.

 **Serge:** wtf is that scarf

 **Leon:** ok that? was below the belt

 **Leon:** what's wrong with my scarf

 **Serge:** it looks like you have a turban around ur neck

 **Leon:** it literally doesn't??? it looks like a scarf???

 **Leon:** i??? 

 **Serge:** and ur facial essprexion in that picture makes u look like uve just seen joshua trip over

 **Leon:** i'll give you that there is a chaotic sort of energy to that photograph

**Leon:**

**Leon:** my essprexion when i see a grown ass 23 year old man unable to spell the simplest of words

 **Serge:** you know what? i wish there was a 'leave private chat' option

 **Serge:** because i have HAD it with your shade

 **Serge:** i am departing to go to bed and get my beauty sleep

 **Leon:** you need it

**Serge:**

****

**Leon:** i'm joking you do have a very pretty face

 **Leon:** gute nacht sergiiii x

 **Leon:** remind james that kovac was the captain of croatia and their oldest player at one point and his former team won vs spain again ;)

 **Serge:** >:(

 **Serge:** i don't need to he's reminding ME

 **Serge:** good night leo i guess. or should i say bad nggiht 

 **Serge:** Xx

 **Leon:** good nggiht to you too! x

***

When Miro and Mario entered their hotel room, Miro told Mario he needed to make a phone call.

"At this time of night?" Mario said, bemused, looking out at the inky sky outside their room. "Sure, go ahead, if the other person is even awake right now. I'm going to finish the last episode of Peaky Blinders season four, then I'm going to drop off."

Miro gave Mario a quick hug goodnight, and then took his phone out of his pocket, opening the door that led to the balcony. When he stepped out, he was expecting it to be chilly, but the night air was actually fairly cool against his skin. He turned on his phone, going to his chats, and then looked at the last messages he had received.

First he had been thinking about Michael during the match, then Kai had given him the assist that had inexplicably been exactly the same as one Michael had given him years ago, and then Michael had texted him, saying he had something to tell Miro. It was bizarre. But Miro knew that his life was full of strange chances and odd turns of events by now.

_Private chat between Miroslav Klose and Michael Ballack_

**Miro:** It is ltae I'm sorry

 **Miro:** Are you he

 **Miro:** Re

 **Miro:** Here*?

 **Michael:** Y

 **Michael:** Es

 **Michael:** *Yes

Miro laughed and shook his head. Then he went and pressed the call button, feeling ridiculously as though he had stepped on the pitch for a World Cup final. He held the phone to his ear, waiting...

After one ring, there was a click, and a very familiar voice spoke up. "Hallo?"

"Michael?" Miro whispered.

"Miro!" Michael sounded delighted on the other end of the line. "I don't know why I sound so surprised, you just texted me, after all. But, hallo! Wie geht's?"

"Mir geht's gut, danke," Miro said quietly. "What about you? It's really late, I wasn't expecting you to be awake by now. I'm sorry it took me so long to respond to your texts-"

"Don't worry," Michael said at once. "I wasn't expecting you to answer straight away, especially not after that win, you were probably celebrating. I'm just glad you called now. Speaking of that win, wow, what a game, what a goal for you!"

Miro wondered if Michael had been waiting for his call all this time. 

"I was wondering what year I was playing in," he said. "I think I was even in the same position in the box as our one."

"But, to be fair, you're always in the same position in the box," Michael teased. Miro rolled his eyes. "Always are and always have been."

"You weren't complaining when that positioning got us goals, Mikey," Miro sighed, and then there was a moment of silence.

Miro stared out at the Amsterdam skyline, hearing Michael's steady breathing through the line, knowing what the other man was thinking.

"You always say the same thing," Michael said after a while. "But that positioning wouldn't have meant anything if I hadn't been there to give you those assists..."

"We're not getting into this debate again," Miro said in a jokingly threatening tone. "What came first, the chicken or the egg? What's more important, the score or the assist? Without the assist the goal can't be scored, without the goal the assist means nothing, so on and so forth. Philosophers can't answer questions like that, so neither can we."

Michael burst out laughing. He had a melodic sort of laugh, one that was incredibly infectious- and at such a late time of night, when he was so tired, Miro couldn't help but join him. They laughed a little irrationally, Miro having to sit down in a chair on the balcony, his shoulders shaking. 

"I  _have_ said funnier things, Mikey," Miro chuckled, as Michael's giggles faded. "I think the time has gotten to your head."

"Probably," Michael sighed, once he finally seemed to have pulled himself together. "Oh, I'm sorry, Miro, look at me, talking nonsense, laughing like an idiot and not telling you why I wanted you to call in the first place. You've probably been gritting your teeth this whole time."

"I'm always happy to talk to you, don't apologise," Miro said. "But I am curious. What did you have to tell me?"

"Well!" Michael said brightly. "I don't know if you remember- or, or care, really, but I'm actually with ZDF now, for their coverage of the Nations League."

"I do remember and I do care. I watched your coverage of the France game, you cracked me up with what you said to Oli about Manu and the quadruple save," Miro said. "What about it?"

Michael laughed. "Thanks, it still makes my heart race, making jokes about Oli right to his face. I felt like I was twenty again, like I had to run. Anyway, speaking of the France game- ZDF is going to be covering the next fixture live at the Stade de France, and I'm going to be a pundit again, with Oli."

"That's great!" Miro said, and then he realised what this meant. "So you're going to be in France at the same time as the National Team?"

"That's right," Michael said, and then he hesitated. "Obviously, well, you'll probably be busy with the team, and even busier once the game is over, but I was wondering... Would you maybe, I don't know, want to meet at some point, while we're both in France? You'll be heading back to Serie A after the break, so we might not get much of a chance to see each other... so..."

Miro smiled at how nervous Michael sounded. It was always the same, nowadays, whenever he wanted to see Miro again he suddenly became shy and uncertain. At the same time, he felt a little bit of an ache inside him. Before, in the good old days, Michael had always gotten straight to the point about what he wanted.

 _"I'm coming to Kaiserslauten on a sponsorship deal- you know me, everyone wants my beautiful face on their products. Can I take you out after, darlin'?_ "  _he had once sang, in an atrocious attempt at an American accent. "That isn't a question, by the way. You're coming with me. I only gave you the illusion of choice because I wanted to use a cool American accent to pose that question to you."_

 _"I'm sorry about how that worked out for you,"_ _Miro had said gravely in response._

"Of course I'll see you," Miro said quietly. "I'd love to catch up again."

"Great!" Michael said. "That's great. Super. Fantastisch. Danke, Miro. I've- I've missed you. It'll be nice seeing you again. It's- it's always nice seeing you again."

"The same to you," Miro murmured. "Do you remember that French bar, where Jens and Oli had that fight and Jens told Oli he was so ugly he made onions cry, and Oli told Jens that he had been on the bench so long he was making his agent cry?"

"Fuck, that should've been the one Oli said to the press!" Michael started cackling again. "That bar was Le Syndicat, right? Their cocktails were amazing. Do you want to go there?"

"If you want. All I remember was those cocktails, I'd love to try one again. This time without you spilling it on me by laughing too much," Miro said dryly.

Michael cleared his throat noisily at the end of the line. 

"What was I meant to do when I was seeing Jens and Oli's shitshow unfolding in front of my eyes?" he said fairly. "Anyway, sorry, I'd love to talk more, but it really is late right now, so I'm probably going to hang up and get some sleep now- you need some too, if you have training tomorrow, I won't hold you up. Well done again for today, and good luck for the next game. Gute Nacht..."

"Thank you, I'm looking forwards to seeing you again, at le Syndicat," Miro murmured. "Gute Nacht, Mikey. It was nice hearing from you again."

There was a moment of silence again, and then Michael mumbled a final goodnight, and then there was a click, which indicated to Miro that Michael had hung up. Miro held the phone to his ear for a few moments, staring out over the balcony, and then he stood up, placing his phone in his pocket. 

He was going to be seeing Michael again.

And Sylwia, Luan and Noah were going to be coming to see the France game.

He was too tired to think. He left the balcony, and returned into his room, making sure to close the door gently behind him. The light was on- Mario was probably absorbed in his show still...

Except he wasn't. Mario had his headphones in and his iPad propped against his chest, but his head had fallen against the pillow and his mouth was hanging open as his chest rose and fell slowly. Miro looked at his sleeping form, then went over to him, removing the headphones and his iPad and placing it on Mario's bedside table. Mario stirred slightly as Miro ruffled his hair gently, but he remained soundly asleep.

Miro wasn't sure he could sleep as peaceably tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jess will be going to france too so we can get leon+luan+noah+team interactions


	61. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 16!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus leute
> 
> you wanna know the tea??? 8-2 defeat. potential match fixing. more details will arrive as i learn it, but there may be a mole in our team who played badly to get a bonus and i am MAD, it was either a REALLY bad day for our defenders (but i absolutely refuse to believe it, especially as we've had recent solid performances and we've beaten this team 2-0 before) or someone claimed 5000 euros at the expense of others, we'll see eH? another fun statistic for that game, i have never conceded more than 5 in one match before. NEVER.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Bernd had woken up that morning feeling distinctly bleary-eyed (probably due to last night's drinks) because his phone had been ringing. He had checked the caller I.D and saw it was his agent, Uli Ferber. He just thought it was some sort of check-up, or details on the new sponsorship deal he had signed a couple of weeks ago, but when he answered the call and opened his mouth to say a greeting he had been instantly interrupted by Uli, who sounded  _angry._

"Good morning to you too," Bernd groaned, sitting upright and looking down at Marc-Andre, who was still fast asleep next to him.  "What's gotten you in such a good mood, mein Freund?"

"Wouldn't you like to know!" Uli's voice was progressively getting more high-pitched, as it usually did when he got worked up. "I take it you haven't checked the photo I sent you. Look at it now, and ask me if I'm in a good mood again."

"I just woke up, damn. It's only nine o'clock. Wait one second, I'll look," Bernd whispered, so he didn't wake his boyfriend.

He went to his notifications and saw that Uli had indeed sent him a picture this morning. He pressed on the notification, expecting it to be a photo of a dodgy contract or something along those lines, but he was totally taken aback by what he saw instead.

"I take it by your shocked silence you've seen the picture?" Uli asked, with a touch of impatience.

Bernd looked down at Marc-Andre again. He was an incredibly deep sleeper, and probably wasn't listening to a word Bernd was saying, but Bernd knew he couldn't stay here. "Give me a second, Uli, let me get out onto the balcony."

"Mm."

Bernd slipped out of bed- Marc-Andre stirred slightly as the weight was removed from the mattress, but then he simply turned over and fell still again. Holding his phone to his ear and hearing Uli chunter under his breath, he opened the door to the balcony and went outside into the chilly Amsterdam morning. The cold didn't matter, however, Bernd's cheeks were burning.

When the door closed behind him, he spoke up again. "Was it a pap?"

"It must have been. The Germany NT after a big win, after celebrating, of course people would want pictures," Uli said. "Rather unfortunate they caught that one, hm?"

Bernd placed his elbows on the wall of the balcony, staring outwards. The photo, whilst not particularly incriminating, was... 

It was of Marc-Andre and Bernd, after the team had started making their way back to the hotel. Everyone else had been distracted by general tiredness and mild drunken behaviour, so nobody had seen it happen. Marc-Andre had flung his arm around Bernd's shoulders, laughing at the top of his voice, while Bernd looked at him with his eyes creased fondly and his mouth turned up at the corners. 

"It's not like they caught us kissing," Bernd tried to joke.

"They might as well have. You know how the German media is, how much they spin everything," Uli said impatiently. "What were you thinking, being caught in such close contact with ter Stegen like that?"

"It's not that big of a deal," Bernd said faintly.

"Oh, but it is," Uli said. "You know what the press is going to say about that little photograph? They're going to say you've resolved your differences. They're going to say you're being  _friendly_ to each other now, after everything."

"Woe betide us, us being civilised is meant to be a good news story?" Bernd asked.

Uli made an annoyed noise. "It is! Consider the position you're in, Bernd. You're the substitute to the substitute. You and ter Stegen have been fighting for that second spot since the beginning of your careers. You missed the Europameisterschaft because your conflict was so heated, and Löw didn't want to have any drama in the squad. You missed out on the biggest opportunity in your international career so far because of that. And now look at you, hugging him, having a good laugh!"

"I don't get why-" Bernd said, his cheeks growing hot as Uli reminded him of the fucking Euros-

"Do you know what that photo says to me?" Uli insisted. "That photo says to me that you're happy to stand behind ter Stegen."

"Come on, that's bullshit!" Bernd said angrily. "That's a whole lot of reactionary nonsense to a picture of us being friendly-"

"Do you think Kahn and Lehmann would have ever been seen together like that?" Uli demanded. "Do you think they'd be friendly to each other publically, that they'd give each other a hug? No! They applied pressure, they took pressure, because they wanted that no.1 spot! Do you want it?"

"Of course I do! Kahn and Lehmann aren't the only model for how competition should be, all spitting and snarling- look at Enke and Adler!" Bernd was getting furious, but he was also getting flustered, because he knew that up until he had started a relationship with Marc-Andre, he had felt the exact same way as Uli. "They had a cordial relationship, they were friendly rivals!"

"With all due respect," Uli said slowly. "It was a different situation. Enke was an experienced international goalkeeper, a man proven to be very talented in the Bundesliga and the Primeira Liga, and Adler was a young, upcoming talent- their rivalry had different circumstances. If things had worked out differently, if Enke got to play in 2010, God rest his soul, Adler still would have had a chance in the future. You and ter Stegen are the same age, and have been competing at the same level for all your career. If ter Stegen gets the no.1 spot,  _there is no chance for you in the future._ "

Bernd didn't want to accept it, but he knew his agent and friend was right. He was gritting his teeth almost painfully hard.

"I can tell you're angry," Uli said. "And I'm sorry. I'm not trying to put down your talent or say that it's hopeless for you, I'm saying the exact opposite. If you put pressure on ter Stegen, if you show him he is going to have to fight for his position, then you won't be resigning yourself to only being the third-choice in Löw's eyes. You have every chance of getting that precious second spot. You need to show you want to be the backup to Neuer."

"Manu has been the undisputed number one for years, he's the best keeper of all time- they'll be looking for someone with accolades, who is proven with a top team, to replace him," Bernd said coldly. "Ter Stegen is with Barca, I'm with Arsenal. And look at my clean sheet record. It's not going to take a picture of us being civil to each other that'll get rid of any competition."

"Ter Stegen is backed up by Umtiti and Pique, you are backed up by Mustafi and Lichtensteiner. Your lack of clean sheets can't be blamed on you. And Löw doesn't base his picks off of silverware and club reputation. If he does, explain why Jonas Hector, a 2.Bundesliga player, is still in the international squad as a starter," Uli said. "You have raw talent. Yes, your path won't be as simple as Neuer's was- not to disrespect the man, it must have been tough for him given how much was lost. But competition can push you to the top. Mad Jens sat on the bench at Arsenal and still fought tooth and nail to get the top spot in 2008."

"I'm not Mad Jens. I'm Bernd Leno," Bernd said in a low, angry voice. "The media don't follow my every step, they don't think that I'm a real contender to be Manu's successor, not after the Euros. It's just another Weidenfeller situation."

"Your move to Arsenal was the first step," Uli said encouragingly. "You're playing in a difficult league. You're being more recognised in the eyes of the media, because the Premier League is widely advertised, and because Arsenal is such a shitshow, any points you can save them will push you even higher in people's estimation. Being a good keeper with a bad defence is generally a very impressive feat, just look at Fabianski. Besides, you got called up for the Confederations Cup. "

" _I played one game against Australia a_ _nd I conceded two!_ " Bernd yelled at him, losing his cool completely for a moment. "And then ter Stegen played for the rest of the tournament! Get the fuck out of here, as if the Confederations Cup proves anything about my place in this whole thing!" 

"A substitute doesn't exactly have an easy job if they're not getting regular minutes with their back line, to get to know them! But that can change! You can catch up to ter Stegen! I'm sorry I seemed like I was overreacting over the photograph, but do you see what I'm talking about? You can't sit back quietly and make Löw think that you're happy to wait your turn. If you don't get there first,  _you won't have a turn._ Apply pressure and take it!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever!" Bernd said. He was hot with fury, all of this over _one photo_. "Fucking _paps_! If I ever got my hands on one of them, I would-"

"You would be a polite, model professional, and show that they don't get under your skin," Uli told him, before Bernd could get into any violent fantasising. "That's what you're going to do in this case too."

Bernd cursed with great volume and expression. Uli listened patiently.

"They could catch a picture of us fucking on the spot, and say, _oh, Leno willingly sacrifices the no.2 spot to his lover,_ for all I care!" Bernd shouted, when he had run out of descriptive expletives to use for the paparazzi. "I'm going to get that spot through talent or not at all! I'm not going to play mental games with the media!"

"Play them with ter Stegen! You're  _rivals!_ " Uli said exasperatedly. "Maybe playing them with the media would do you a bit of good! It would probably improve your image, make you look stronger and more confident than you do now!"

"Jesus!" Bernd said. "So now you're calling me weak! Thanks, it's nice to know how highly my agent regards me!"

Uli seemed to realise he had made a mistake. "That was poor wording, Bernd, I'm sorry- let's not get into another fight! I really don't understand why you're getting so angry, though, you were  _always_ the one telling me about your disdain for ter Stegen anyway, you were always determined to prove that you were better than him! You were always so hostile and now you're acting as though you've been friendly for years!"

Bernd froze. Uli, again, was right. In the past, Bernd had only ever complained about Marc-Andre, and had never had a good word to say about him- and here he was now, defending the fact that they had been caught being friendly together. How suspicious did that look?

"You know, I'm fucking tired, Uli," he snapped, because he didn't want to address any of this. "I drank last night, I've got a headache, I'm not up to talking about this shit right now. I'm going back to bed. Call me later."

"Bernd-"

Bernd hung up, and shoved his phone back into his pocket. He clenched his fists. God, of  _course_ someone had to remind him about how fucking complicated this shit was. He turned around and stormed back into the hotel room, but then he was caught thoroughly off-guard- Marc-Andre had woken up.

His boyfriend was stretching and yawning, blinking at him sleepily. But his lips stretched into a smile when he saw Bernd.

"Guten Morgen. I woke up and I was so confused because you weren't here," he said with a little laugh. "Why were you on the balcony?"

"I got a phone call," Bernd said, moving over to Marc-Andre and bending down to give him a kiss, both so he could ground himself and because he looked really cute right now.  _Fuck._ "Sleep well?"

"I have a small headache, but I'm okay," Marc-Andre said, rubbing his head. "When's the flight to Paris?"

"It's at six," Bernd said. 

"Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool." Marc-Andre yawned again. "Does that mean I can go back to sleep? I'm  _really_ tired right now. I only woke because I realised you weren't here."

Bernd wanted to wince at this, but he smiled instead.

"You know what, Marc? I'm tired too. Let's sleep until we get yelled at."

Marc-Andre smiled and held his arms out. Bernd let himself get pulled into bed, and as Marc-Andre fell still against him, he thought,  _speaking of getting yelled at, maybe it's time to talk to Manu about this._

***

When the phone call arrived, Jerome was in the bathroom, shaving. When Leroy heard his ring-tone and saw the name 'Rob' flashing on Jerome's screen, he yelled, "Jeri, Lewandowski is calling you!"

Jerome burst through the bathroom door half-dressed and charged towards his bedside table straight away, running faster than he did on the pitch.  Leroy, who was playing FIFA on his phone, raised his hand and knew it was time for him to leave the room. He went out to the balcony to continue his game, hoping for Jerome's sake this conversation went well.

Jerome swiped his screen quickly and almost sighed in relief when he saw Robert's face, but then his heart contracted. There were tears in Robert's eyes.

"Hi, baby," Robert whispered. "I'm sorry I didn't call you back yesterday. I don't think I was up for rational conversation at that point anyway."

"It's okay, I know you must have been feeling... well," Jerome said nervously. "Did you call Milena and your  _matka?_ They were texting me and calling me, asking me to find out if you were okay. They were watching the game..." 

Robert laughed a little helplessly as Jerome trailed off anxiously. "You're the only person I've called so far. I saw Milena's string of text messages, telling me  _matka_ was fit to burst with worry, but I couldn't bring myself to call her. I told Wojciech to do it and say that I was asleep."

"Rob... you should call her after we finish talking," Jerome insisted. "She's always so worried about you, she'd only feel really reassured if you talked to her yourself, and let her know you're okay."

"I don't want to, Jeri," Robert mumbled. "I just humiliated myself, and probably every other Polish person around the world, too. Maciej had a great little rant about me on TV-  _the only times Robert Lewandowski was seen on the pitch was when he was directly damaging his own team, or when he was missing every opportunity to help them...._ "

Jerome winced. Wojciech's father Maciej had been a Polish keeper with Legia Warsaw, and he was... very passionate about the national team. Jerome _had_ expected there to be plenty of criticism to be flying about from the Polish...

"I'm sorry, my love, but you're going to have to expect this over the next few days," he said softly. "There's going to be a lot of criticism. And it's going to be hurtful."

"At least you're being honest about it," Robert sighed, rubbing his nose. "Are you going to accept that it's hopeless for us now?"

"No." Jerome didn't bother giving any further explanation.

Robert laughed. "Of course you're not. We could get relegated down to League D and not qualify for the Euros and you'd still think we had a chance. Ha, speaking of Euros qualification..."

He covered his face with his hand, and he did not retreat from it for a good few minutes. Jerome waited, knowing that Robert didn't need him to constantly talk, but just needed his presence. There was nothing Jerome could really say to soothe the pain of this blow, seeing as he had only watched the two goals (he couldn't bring himself to look at a single other highlight), but what he could say was-

"It can't have all been you. It's not all on your shoulders."

Robert looked up. His eyes were very red. "Except for the fact I gave away possession and led for the first goal to be scored against us, and the fact I  _scored_ the second fucking goal against us-"

"You gave away possession, but did your defenders get to Insigne quickly enough?" Jerome said. "The own goal was bad, but you were in such a tight position and the defenders weren't giving you any options to pass out to, you had to try and clear it. Fabianski was blocked by all the players in the box and couldn't get to the cleared ball quickly enough, it wasn't his fault either." 

Robert started laughing again. "My Jeri. You're always finding a way to make things sound better than they were. I really did Lukasz dirty tonight. He had been pulling off great saves left and right to try and save our asses but then I fucked him over-"

"The whole team did him dirty," Jerome intoned. "Not you alone. It's not all on your shoulders. I say this every time and I'll say it again. You refuse to let me take blame for games that go wrong because of my mistakes, but when I do the same to you you act like I'm crazy. Why, Rob, why?"

"It's a lot easier to reassure others than yourself," Robert admitted. "But in this case I really don't know how you're still trying to argue my case, it was _literally_ all my fault. It's amazing, you really have that much faith in me."

"Do you not have the same level of faith in me?" Jerome challenged.

"You got me there," Robert laughed, and then he started to cry. Jerome reached out as if Robert was in the room with him and not in Italy. "Holy shit, failing is hard.  I had all these wild dreams when I was young about changing Polish football so _ojciec_ could be proud of me, but I can't even scrape a win in the fucking Nations League. He would be so fucking disappointed if he saw the clownery our NT was pulling today. He would be disappointed in _me._ "

" _Robert!_ " Jerome said angrily. "Please don't say stuff like that! Your _ojciec_ cared about you as a human being more than he cared about your successes! You can't only be loved if you have a good game! And look at what you did when you left Poland, you're known as one of the best strikers in the world unequivocally, how would he be disappointed? It's probably all he would have hoped for and more!"

Robert smiled at how indignant Jerome looked, even through tears. 

"I guess being overly competitive makes you a little deluded sometimes. I'm a perfectionist. It's hard to change that mindset," he said quietly. " _Ojciec_ missed everything that happened to me from the age of sixteen to now, every success, every failure, and it makes me want to win everything for him. I always dreamed he could watch one of my games, and it never happened- but I always think,  _he's up there, give him a good show._ "

"He would be beyond proud of the fact you're even on the pitch, regardless of the result. Just like I am. I assure you he is the spiritual founder of the Robert Lewandowski Fan Club along with your  _matka,_ Milena and me," Jerome said softly. "It doesn't matter what happened in this game. What matters is how far you've come and how much you've achieved already. Remember, you're Poland's highest scorer. It doesn't matter what people are saying about you right now, at the end of the day you're the best player they've ever had."

"Stop it, Jeri, I'm crying enough already," Robert threatened him. "But I guess it's good for my skin. You know I still hate myself for this result, and I still am going to be thinking about it for literally the rest of my life, but the fact you've made me feel slightly better now shows just how fucking incredible you are, eh? I love you."

He held his hand out to his screen and Jerome reciprocated, looking at him sadly. 

A lot of people had failed Robert in his life, and Jerome knew how hard he found it to trust people. The fact that Robert seemed to trust Jerome above everyone else, however, even when he was in such a low mood, made Jerome feel like even if right now he was punishing himself for his mistakes, he would one day learn to take Jerome's word as true and believe in himself. 

***

_thomas is bayern's past present and future_

**James:** so on this day

 **James:** or more precisely yesterday

 **James:** literally every single person in this group chat failed me.

 **Serge:** here we go

 **David:** this bitch with his "everyone failed me"

 **David:** what'd i do? i'm living my unproblematic life with austria

 **James:** austria is next to germany. germany is home to bayern. bayern is home to nico kovac. 

 **James:** you are guilty

 **David:** i will be guilty soon

 **James:** threat!

 **James:** verbal threat!

 **James:** anyway david you're not the only one who is guilty

 **James:** i knew the germans would fail me. i knew never to put my faith in germans.

 **Serge:** leo waht did i tell u about this little girl 

 **Leon:** had to see it to believe it

 **James:** u always talking about leo damn shut up and let me have my moment i am injured this is persecution

 **Serge:** I MISSED OUT ON THE 4-1 WIN BECAUSE OF INJURY

 **James:** **just what i was getting to.**

 **James:**  arjen robben. 4-1.

 **James:** really?

 **Arjen:** If this turns into the new fucking amusing "make fun of Arjen for X scoreline" joke I'm dipping from Bayern

 **Arjen:** Say bye to 10 years of service, I'm done

 **James:** don't worry my dear. you aren't the worst one.

 **James:** there are much worse offenders.

 **Xabi:** Why don't you just go ahead and say you're disappointed in Spain?

 **Javi:** :(((

 **James:** WOW OKAY SO I WAS GOING TO GIVE YOU A PASS BECAUSE YOU SCORED ONE BUT THEN YOU RUINED MY DRAMATIC BUILD UP

 **James:** i'm extra disappointed in xabi now

 **Xabi:** My night is ruined.

 **James:** and i'm disappointed in thiago

 **James:** but javi martinez :( you were meant to be my bro :( 

 **Javi:** :((((( Lo siento :((((( 

 **Javi:** I am sorry mi amigo my strength and my focus were not enough :(((

**Thiago:**

**Thiago:** guilt trip my boyfriend again mr rodriguez. guilt trip the man who did nothing wrong. i dare you. do it in front of my face even. 

 **Thiago:** NOBODY IS ALLOWED TO GUILT TRIP JAVI MARTINEZ HE HAS NEVER DONE ANYTHING WRONG 

 **Javi:** Thia it's ok!!!!!

 **Joshua:** you've literally done it yourself thiago

 **Joshua:** don't you remember the halloween party where you wanted him to wear that dinosaur mask because you thought that it would scare mats and make him think a bigass dinosaur had charged into the room

 **Joshua:** so you told javi that you were too short to make the mask effective and javi felt sorry for you and put it on even tho he's claustrophobic and hates masks

 **Thiago:** THAT WASN'T GUILT TRIPPING HE JUST WAS LIKE "I'LL PUT IT ON THIA!!!!" BECAUSE HE'S A KIND PERSON

 **Thiago:** IT WAS WHOLESOME FUN

 **Joshua:** HE BROKE HIS SCAPHOID BONE BECAUSE HE COULDN'T SEE WHERE HE WAS GOING AND PREVENT HIS FALL

 **Thiago:** THAT WAS MATS' FAULT FOR BEING A PUSSY BITCH AND SHOVING JAVI BECAUSE HE THOUGHT IT WAS A REAL DINOSAUR THE DRUNK CLOWN

 **Mats:** hey javi is a big man and that was a scary realistic dinosaur mask and i was drunk not my fault

 **Javi:** I'm sorry for scaring you!!!!

 **Mats:** i'll do you one better. i'm sorry for breaking ur fucking scaphoid bone

 **Thiago:** I HAVE NEVER FELT MORE BAD IN MY LIFE ABOUT SOMETHING KIMMICH WHAT DO YOU GAIN BRINGING THAT INCIDENT UP I CRIED ABOUT IT

 **Rafinha:** he did cry it was funny!!!!

 **David:** lmao yeah he was like "JAVIER WHAT CAN I EVER DO TO MAKE YOU FORGIVE ME" 

 **Niklas:** Oh man was that when Thiago demanded that Javi choose a make-up gift

 **Niklas:** And my man Javier said "I want you take the vitamins you don't like so you grow stronger"

 **Thiago:** yes and i still take them to this day

 **Javi:** :D

 **Javi:** Now he is even stronger!

 **Serge:** stop it what the fuck

 **Serge:** that is so fucking adobrabe

 **Leon:** serge do you just close ur eyes tap keys and hope for the best

 **Serge:** did ur mother close her eyes when she was having you

 **Leon:** even marc-andre would be ashamed of that

 **Serge:** i'm ashamed of you

 **Leon:** damn you spelled a word with multiple consonants and vowels correctly 

_Serge Gnabry left thomas is bayern's past present and future._

_Thomas Müller added Serge Gnabry to thomas is bayern's past present and future._

**James:** there is rampant tension from my transfer drama 

**David:** no there isn't everyone wants you gone

**James:** and there is rampant tension of another variety

**Serge:** yes. the tension that you bring to this squad with your personality

_Private chat between James Rodriguez and Serge Gnabry_

**James:** COME ON MAN

**James:** I MAKE A LIL JOKE ABOUT UR CRUSH AND U DO ME LIKE THAT

**Serge:** DON'T MAKE JOKES ABOUT IT HE'LL GET SUSPICIOUS AND I DON'T WANT TO RUSH THIS WE HAVE A GOOD THING GOING OK

**James:** you're a pussy just ask him out

**Serge:** JUST EAT MY ASS

**James:** eat his

**James:** you like him and he likes you i know he does

**James:** "sergiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!"

**Serge:** SHUT UP

**James:** look we can make a plan for you to ask him out

**Serge:** i'll make a plan to beat your ass

_thomas is bayern's past present and future_

**Serge:** javi you should be proud of yourself

**Javi:** I know it was a bad performance :(

**Serge:** thats literally the opposite of what i meant i wasnt being sarcastic

**Serge:** don't listen to fucking rodriguez

**Serge:** ofc your defence would flounder ramos did you so dirty with that red (but we been knew it would happen)

**Serge:** YOU were defensively solid and your team did you dirty by not attacking goal

**Xabi:** I'm sorry?

**Thiago:** ok i accept u telling javi he should be proud of himself but don't come for spain

**Fips:** You're part of a German team. What do you expect?

**Arjen:** Yeah Spain sucks

**Xabi:** Don't make me tap into my class and scorch you with a 2010 World Cup final joke, Robben.

**Franck:** lol netherlands never won a wc

**Franck: also** lol netherlands didnt qualify for the euros

**Arjen:** lol france lost the euros finals to eder and got knocked out of the 2010 group stages

**Franck:** i dont associate myself with that euros squad

**Arjen:** Because you didn't get called up

_Private chat between James Rodriguez and Serge Gnabry_

**James:** the old deflecting game eh

**James:** come on you fucking pussy why don't you just man up you've known each other for ages

**James:** you were on the g*rmany youth teams and you always thought he was cute

**Serge:** it wasnt just cute you buffoon

**Serge:** he was beautiful

**James:** wow...

**James:**  thats gay

**James:** why you taking it so slow

**Serge:** because we fell a little out of contact while i was at arsenal and he was with fucking meyer

**Serge:** when we both came to bayern i wanted to do it properly

**Serge:** i really like him james i don't want to blow it

**James:** but why do you think you're going to blow it??? he really does like you

**Serge:** i don't know i just believe in there being the right time to do things

**James:** clownery

**James:** look im gonna ask the group chat what they think

**Serge:** if you DARE

_thomas is bayern's past present and future_

**James:** boys i have a question so stop all your conversations and listen to me now

**James:** do you believe that there's a right time to do things or do you think that if you have an idea you should jump on it straight away

**David:** if u want to leave bayern do it straight away

**James:** very funny this isn't about me

**Niklas:** For once

**Thomas:** purely because of miroslav klose's existence i think there's a right time to do things

**Thomas:** like the man scored his WC goalscoring record goal at the absolute perfect moment, imagine if he had done it in a game vs the usa

**Thomas:** that would've been so boring

**Manu:** But what about Mesami

**Thomas:** this is a complex, many-layered question it seems, are we talking about relationships or in general

**James:** let's say relationships

**Mats:** right time to do things.

**Mats:** look at me and bene

**Mats:**  there was that one revierderby where we had a huge fight and then after i kissed him because the fight came from SEXUAL tension and so we made out for like 5 straight mins

**Mats:** don't worry jerome we didn't fuck

**Mats:** then i asked him out and he told me he hated me and then he said that he liked turkish food so we got turkish food

**Mats:** then we got drunk in a bar and THEN we fucked and look at us now

**Mats:** if there hadn't been that revierderby fight we would have never pounded it out so yes there was a right time to do things

**Mats:**

**Mats:**

**Mats:** little did benedikt know...

**Joshua:** jule was right you really ARE a slut

**Manu:** Time for this classic screenshot

**Manu:**   _[screenshot:_

_**Benni:**  MANUEL_

_**Benni:** **M A N U E L**_

_**Manu:** Yes_

**_Benni:_ ** _THAT OBNOXIOUS STUPID FACED LÜDENSCHEID-NORD CENTREBACK_

**_Manu:_ ** _What about Mats_

**_Benni:_ ** _WE HAD SEX_

_**Benni** :_ _HE WINKED AT ME DURING THE MATCH AND I WAS LIKE I HATE YOU GO AWAY AND THEN WE HAD A FIGHT AND I YELLED AT HIM AND HE YELLED AT ME THEN WE BOTH GOT YELLOWS_

_**Benni:** AND AFTER HE CAME TO OUR DRESSING ROOM WHEN IT WAS LIKE EMPTY AND THEN HE WAS BEING ANNOYING AND THEN HE KISSED ME_

_**Benni:** AND I KISSED HIM BACK THEN HE ASKED ME OUT AND I TOLD HIM HE WAS A CUNT AND THEN WE GOT FOOD AND GOT DRUNK AND HAD SEX AND NOW I'M IN HIS APARTMENT HELP_

_**Manu:** Hey quick question_

_**Manu:** _ _What the fuck?]_

**Leon:** he told me that he hated that it was great sex

**Mats:** see? he loved it

**James:** yes but the fact it was revierderby doesn't prove that the right time is better

**James:** it couldve happened even if it wasnt during that period if u just asked höwedes out before because clearly he liked you all along

**Leon:** shockingly, i agree with james

**Leon:** i think you should jump on it straight away

**Leon:** because like you can't really predict when something happens and you can never be sure if there is a real right time to do something you know? 

**James:** well!

_Private chat between Serge Gnabry and James Rodriguez_

**Serge:** STOP IT FOR REAL

**Serge:** NOW I'M DOUBTING EVERY ASPECT OF MY EXISTENCE

**Serge:** MY CAREFULLY LAID PLAN IS FUCKING RUINED, R U I N E D

**Serge:** I WAS GOING TO SCORE A BRACE ASSISTED BY HIM AND THEN AFTER THE MATCH WE WERE GOING TO BE LIKE TALKING THEN I'D SAY "I COULDN'T DO IT WITHOUT YOU" AND THEN I'D ASK HIM OUT

**James:** well i really helped you dodge a bullet there that's lame

**Serge:** OMG BYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

_thomas is bayern's past present and future_

**Thiago:** i also think jumping on it

**Thiago:** i knew javi and i were made for each other so what was the point waiting?

**Javi:** Thia!!!! :)

**Thomas:** see i'd say jumping on it but manu and i had specific circumstances like that 2012 final we needed each other?? it's so complicated

**Manu:** But we did like each other really quickly

**Thomas:** very true

**Thomas:** why don't we ask our resident gays, the gays that trump all the gays

**Thomas:** robert and jerome???

**Mats:** they're probably busy tbh

_Private chat between Serge Gnabry and James Rodriguez_

**Serge:** ROBERT AND JEROME!!!!

**Serge:** PERFECT I'LL ASK THEM THEY'RE THE MOST DISGUSTINGLY GAY PEOPLE WHO HAVE THE SWEETEST GETTING TOGETHER STORY HERE I'LL GET THEIR ADVICE!!!

**James:** WHY WON'T YOU TAKE MINE

**Serge:** BECAUSE YOU ARE SAD AND LONELY

_thomas is bayern's past present and future_

**Arjen:** D'you know who I'm interested to hear from?

**Arjen:** Fips, what do you think, eh?

**Arjen:**  Pour it all out

**Fips:** I don't have a particular opinion.

**Arjen:** Rain down on us any of your thoughts

**Fips:** I don't have any. 

**Arjen:** Usually we'd need an umbrella to keep out your opinions

**Franck:** what

**Leon:** but we don't know what philipp would think about relationships because we don't know what his sexual orientation is

**Leon:** fips are you gay

_Private chat between Philipp Lahm and Arjen Robben_

**Fips:** I hate you.

**Arjen:** What's rained on your parade?

_thomas is bayern's past present and future_

**Niklas:** LADS

**Manu:** IT'S

**David:** FIPS

**Joshua:** AND

**Rafinha:** WE 

**Thomas:** DON'T

**Thiago:** KNOW

**Javi:** IF

**Renato:** HE

**Alphonso:** IS 

**Leon:** GAY

**Serge:** SO

**Mats:** TELL

**Xabi:** US

**Franck:** FIPS

**Coco:** ARE

**Kingsley:** YOU

**Arjen:** GAY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor rené adler :(((( he had such a sad career, really he was such an upcoming talent, newspapers were full of his and robert enke's fight for no.1 and then he got sidelined by that rib injury. manu really did get lucky, not saying he doesnt have vast quantities of talent and not sayinghe isnt the best GK in the world but he got incredibly lucky with how he got the no.1 spot :(((
> 
> woohoo i got a bit into my goalkeeper feelings being stuck at no.2 is incredibly annoying and i cant imagine how frustrating bernds career must be like damn. im a bit annoyed because i wanted to make a whole lehmann/kahn plot with steno and it was gonna be like a proper war in the media and everything but then i got them gay lol. oh yeah im also in my goalkeeper performances because i am STILL FURIOUS ABOUT THE 8-2
> 
> i know james isn't that salty but i just find it funny making fun of all the german reports of james HATING bayern and germany so i make the most of it and i am honestly getting sick of his mAdRiD comments so im like damn james just dip i don't hate him tho
> 
> i miss bayern won the bundesliga DAMN. also i miss mesami, theyre gonna get their time vvvvvv soon
> 
> frankfurt vs inter is a MUST-watch for the UEL! what a draw, the rest are kind of bad other than napoli/salzburg arsenal/rennes
> 
> https://www.bavarianfootballworks.com/2018/6/21/17488484/wojciech-szczesny-robert-lewandowski-poland-world-cup-senegal-colombia  
> maciej szczęsny looked at the clownery of the polish NT and pulled no punches...  
> https://www.bavarianfootballworks.com/2019/2/19/18231575/bayern-munich-ahead-of-liverpool-robert-lewandowski-opens-up-champions-league


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 17!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again i despise this
> 
> angst chapter for an angst person

_In a thumping performance from the current world champions, 2.Bundesliga player Jonas Hector shone and veteran Miroslav Klose put up a vintage display, aided by newly recruited Bayer Leverkusen starlet Kai Havertz. With a Man of the Match performance for both defensive and offensive contribution, Hector scored a hat-trick, with his goals being assisted by Toni Kroos, Mesut Özil and Bastian Schweinsteiger. A consolation goal from the Bayern Munich winger Arjen Robben saw the Netherlands breaking the Germans' clean sheet- but with no real consequence to the overall scoreline._

_"It was remarkable from Jonas," Germany coach Joachim Löw said following the match, when questioned on Hector's performance. "Not only was he building up attacks from the back and making himself available moving forwards, he was constantly doing his job as a defender and doubling for every position on the pitch. Not only was his hat-trick, incredible as it was, important, but so were his multiple crucial interceptions and key passes. I hope he will carry this form into the France match!"_

_"It was not at all what we expected going into the match,"  Dutch coach Koeman admitted. "We knew the midfield would feed Klose and that the Germans work exceptionally well together, but we never expected to be so shaken up by the fiery form of one man who plays in the German second-tier. It is possible we underestimated the situation. We will analyse our performances carefully for the next matches in the Nations League and move forwards."_

_Hector was not the only one who attracted attention in the Germans' dismantling of their Dutch arch-rivals. Arsenal midfielder Mesut Özil became trending on Twitter after an inspired assist for Hector's second goal. Users flocked to the social media website to suggest that Özil was sending a message to Unai Emery back in London, showing what he can do when off the bench and put in a thriving environment. With an assist, five key passes and the most number of successful dribbles in the match before being substituted for Leverkusen youngster Kai Havertz, Özil demonstrated the talent that is not being put to use in Arsenal._

"And there it is," Mesut said, putting down his phone and actually laughing to himself. "The media like me again."

He didn't want to say that he had been scrolling through post-match reports almost obsessively throughout most of the morning, but, unfortunately, that was exactly what he had been doing. Whilst Sami shaved, got his things together and tried to push him to pack too, Mesut went through BBC Sport, Bild, Die Welt, Der Spiegel, El Mundo Deportivo, the Guardian- pretty much anything that could be constituted as a major sports news outlet- and read out choice phrases from articles that painted him in a good light.

"I told you, didn't I?" Sami said, lifting up his bedsheets to try and locate his earphones, which had mysteriously gone missing. "I told you you would show Emery what he was missing out. And now you have, and you've shifted the heat onto him."

"For now, anyway," Mesut sighed, finally throwing his phone onto the bed. "If he starts me in a league game and I only make one assist they'll be back down my throat again, yelling about how  _Özil_ _is invisible..._ it's the laws of football."

"And there's nothing you can do about it, Mes. You'll just have to keep proving them wrong," Sami said sternly. "Now, are you going to stop obsessing over yourself and fucking pack? For once I'm actually ready early and I'm still going to get yelled at by Fips anyway, because of you."

"You can't avoid it," Mesut said vaguely, but he got up anyway, stretching. "I fucking hope I can put in a good shift against France. Backing up that Netherlands game with another good performance will show that it wasn't just a one-off."

Sami threw one of Mesut's socks, which had been lying on the floor, at him. "Of course you can put in a good shift. As long as you remember what side you're playing for, eh? Don't want to end up giving a crazy assist to  _Lolo,_ or  _Oli._ "

Mesut totally missed the shade. "Or doing a Lewandowski and scoring a worldie in the wrong net."

Sami winced horribly.

" _Yikes._ Say that to Jeri's face, I dare you," he said. "But at least we can say this much- no matter what happens in the next game, at least we would've done better than Robert Lewandowski."

The two of them looked at each other guiltily.

"Okay, Jesus, Jeri got into my head. I can't take the piss out of Lewandowski," Sami sighed. "I feel bad, now." 

"I don't," Mesut said dubiously. "I'm sure he can survive a Nations League defeat, he's beaten us in the Champions League 10-2. I assure you that was worse for our morale than a loss against Italy in glorified friendlies was to him. Ugh, I hate him, he's fucked us over so many times."

"Fair enough, but..." Sami sighed. "Probably can't express that sentiment in front of Jerome."

"You could say Lewandowski is a good striker and he'd rip into you for not using a superlative to describe him," Mesut said, rolling his eyes. "It's best not to talk about Lewandowski at all around him, unless you're some sort of hero-worshipper like Jerome is."

"Speaking of hero-worship," Sami said irritably, suddenly looking away from Mesut. "That Havertz kid is really pushing it to the limit."

Mesut looked at Sami, whose desire to find his earphones had been suddenly invigorated- he was raking through his room as if he was looking for something of desperate importance. 

"He has been a little weird," he conceded. "I mean, when he asked me to watch that compilation of Oli's greatest goals with him, I was like sure, I'll watch, maybe I could relieve some good memories of past wins or something. But when he gave me that quiz on Oli's Grenoble career stats, I thought, maybe it's actually dangerous that we're going to be seeing Oli soon. Havertz might start telling him stuff about his life that even he doesn't know about."

"Mmm," Sami said, stalking over to Mesut's bed to begin his search there- Mesut and he tended to interchange belongings sometimes without even realising it. "I'm sure the rest of the squad are going to be fucking delighted to see Giroud again. They'll probably lend him an assist on the pitch. Manu will deliberately go the wrong way on a pen for him."

"Ooh, I dare  _you_ to say that to  _Manu's_ face," Mesut laughed. He really wasn't noticing the shade Sami was casting on him- Sami got the impression he was still thinking about his Arsenal problems. "I'm going to be pretty happy to see Oli, not going to lie. All throughout our time in London he's been helping me out with all these mental problems I've been having recently, whenever I see him it makes me feel a bit calmer."

Sami had been about to glare at Mesut, but something more pressing was on his mind. "Mental problems? Like what? Are you okay?"

Mesut paused in the midst of packing, realising what he had said, and realising that Sami was looking at him worriedly. 

"Not like, serious mental problems, nothing like that," he said hurriedly. "It's nothing different from what I've been telling you, really, it's just Unai being a cunt, fans being cunts, and... well-"

He shrugged helplessly, not sure how to articulate his words. Sami was staring at him, clearly knowing that Mesut was holding back from saying something. He waited, however, for an explanation that seemed unlikely to ever come. 

"I see," Sami said finally, when Mesut eventually gave up trying to speak like a comprehensible human being. "Well, Mes, you know you  _can_ talk to me, right?"

Sami's voice sounded inordinately worried.

"Yeah, of course I do," Mesut said. "I came to you back then when I needed to whine to you about Mou, and I come to you now when I need to whine about Emery. Nothing's changed, eh?"

Sami wasn't too sure about that. It felt to him like a lot of things had changed- like the fact he felt Mesut wasn't being truthful with him, the fact that he wasn't feeling nearly as assured as Mesut was feeling. He didn't say anything about this, however. He just threw Mesut's pillow back onto his bed and snapped, "God, where the _hell_ are my earphones?"

"Your earphones?" Mesut said. "Oh! I forgot I borrowed them yesterday to watch Inception. They're in my iPad."

"Wow, thanks a fucking bunch. So you've been watching me look all this time and decided not to say anything?" Sami said irritably, going over to Mesut's bedside table to retrieve them.

Mesut shrugged. "You didn't tell me you were looking for them." 

"You weren't wondering why I was turning your bed upside down?" Sami asked in disbelief, yanking his earphones out of Mesut's iPad and throwing them around his neck. 

"I don't know, I had things on my mind," Mesut said easily, though his eyes followed Sami as he stalked over to his suitcase.

"As we've established," Sami muttered. Mesut stared at him.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked.

"Nothing," Sami muttered. "I'm just annoyed you seem to have absolutely no sense of awareness about anything."

"That's not what they say about me on the pitch," Mesut said slyly. Sami rolled his eyes. "Come on, Sam, what are you mad about?"

"I said, nothing!" Sami said impatiently. "Hurry up and pack! Stop fucking around and being so lazy and slow."

"That  _is_ what they say about me on the pitch," Mesut admitted grudgingly. "I'm getting ready, I'm getting ready, calm down! It's not like anybody else is going to be ready yet anyway-"

"ÖZIL! KHEDIRA! WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?" a sudden bull-like roar erupted from outside their room's door- accompanied by quite a lot of loud giggling. Mesut leapt out of his skin and almost fell into his open suitcase. "EVERYONE ELSE IS READY! WHY ARE YOU TAKING SO LONG?"

Sami didn't even laugh, he just gave Mesut a look from where he had pulled his suitcase onto the floor and put his jacket on. Mesut raised a hand towards him like he did when he placed an awkward pass to a teammate- he had gotten them both fucked over, after all. 

***

The journey to the airport was fairly quiet, as there was still a fair number of hangovers and post-match fatigue. After another sleepless night, this time more due to the fact his brain had been feeling electric from excitement and euphoria than anything else, Jonas fell asleep on the coach almost instantly, his head resting against the window. Bernd didn't mind. He needed some time to himself to think, anyway.

Manu sitting in the row next to him didn't quite help his spiked nerves. The number one goalkeeper's presence only reminded him of the predicament he was in. Fortunately, Manu didn't make conversation at all, not even with Thomas, who was instead chattering to Basti in front of him. He was wearing headphones and staring blankly into space.

Benni's presence didn't help either. Although the centreback sitting behind him wasn't even talking to him, or saying anything that was relevant to Bernd, his anxiety was infectious and was making everyone around him feel nervous too. Benni was extremely scared about getting on the plane today, and was loudly repeating the mantra,  _fuck, it's going to be horrible, fuck, it's going to be horrible, fuck, it's going to be horrible._ Mats was soothing him and being remarkably patient, but it didn't seem like anything was getting into Benni's head.

After his temporary lapse in morale, Marco seemed to be trying to pull himself together and quickly start being his old self again.  He started kicking Mesut's seat simply for something to do, because Mario was absorbed in a wild Twitter thread about some celebrity or another and was more interested in the tea than his boyfriend. When Mesut started threatening Marco with injury, he started kicking harder, because he enjoyed irony.

Eventually Mesut decided to change tack from verbal threats and assumed the moral high ground- and started ignoring Marco, in the hope he would get bored. He was correct in his assertion that Marco enjoyed the attention that came from taking the piss- the man decided to switch targets to Fips when Mesut stopped reacting towards him.

" _Fips, are you gay?_ " he sang, finding an unexpected duet in Leon, who had finally shut off his phone when he saw an opportunity to make fun of Fips. " _Are you gay? Are you?_  Come on Goretzka, let's harmonise! _Phillipp Lahm, bist du homosexuell?_ "

His voice really was quite sweet.

 _"Tell us, please!"_ Leon added. His voice too was surprisingly melodic. " _Are you gaaa-_ HEY!"

Fips had just snatched Leon's phone from him, when he had left it unsupervised. Leon lunged for it quicker than he would lunge for the ball and the two of them wrestled until Leon finally managed to prise it free- because, whether Fips liked it or not, Leon was bigger and stronger than him.

Marco let out a whistle as both Leon and Fips fumed. "Damn, Goretzka, what've you got on that phone? Maybe you're the one with Jogi's nudes."

"I respect my coach's integrity!" Leon yelled, very red in the face. He stuck his phone into his pocket where nobody could get it and sank very low in his seat. Fips, who had momentarily lost hold of his dignity, glared in the opposite direction, and even when Marco resumed his chant again he refused to look around again.

Jerome was texting Robert, but this time he didn't look as he usually did when he was talking to his boyfriend, he wasn't smiling or looking fondly down at his phone. He just looked sad, and worried. Toni noticed this. 

"How is Lewandowski?" he asked softly. Jerome looked at him and just shook his head in response- and that was all Toni needed to understand.

When the bus arrived at the airport, everyone but Benni and Kai, who wasn't looking forward to flying either, was pretty happy to get out into the open and move around. Bernd had to shake Jonas awake, the man was so knocked out, and was met with the sight of an adorably confused looking man. Toni, who was in the aisle, leaned over to give him a punch in the shoulder.

"Up you get, Jonas," he said cheerfully. "You're about to go to France to tear shit up there too, look more alive."

Jonas turned scarlet and blinked even more bemusedly. 

When they entered the airport with the mass of team staff and Jogi shouting orders left and right at people, as if they were arriving in unknown territory, it became clear that unfortunately the team had regained their energy again. Chatter started, Leon had finally coaxed forgiveness out of Fips for a comment he had made about the man's height, and Marco went over to start bugging Benni and Mats, while Mario explained the celebrity tea to him. Thomas had started yet another dispute with Mario Gomez, one Miro was trying to break up, while Manu stood there quietly, unmoving.

They got through security checks and baggage control surprisingly without a hitch, if you didn't count the verbal abuse the very on-edge Benni hurled at Marco- but that was water off a duck's back. Finally they reached the departure gate, ready to board their jet and finally leave this country. They just needed to wait for a little longer.

It seemed like they were waiting for a very long time. Hansi was doing his job as assistant coach and worrying over  _everything,_ rushing about the place non-stop while Jogi disappeared to talk to some airport staff to find out what the delay was. The medical team were actually keeping an eye out to make sure nobody got injured in any tussles that might spring up among the impatient players.

It wasn't exactly part of their job description, but with this team, you had to be prepared.

After what felt like an age, Jogi returned, looking exasperated, ruffling his already ruffled hair. Once again, something was-

"Delayed," he told the team. "The flight is going to be delayed. We're going to have to wait for an hour or so for further updates."

There was a chorus of groans from the team, who had very short attention-spans and didn't like waiting for periods longer than ten minutes- they had already been waiting for around half an hour or so.

"Why is it delayed?" Marco demanded. "I swear, this shit always happens with this team, something is  _always_ late."

Jogi gave Marco a burning look. "Don't even  _pretend_ that you're not usually part of the problem, Reus. And we're not sure as of yet- we've only received word that it may be a technical issue with the plane."

Everyone winced as Benni let out a sharp gasp. Leon, who was well aware of what his former captain was like when it came to general...  _aviation,_ sucked in his breath. The damage was done.

"Oh my God, a  _technical_ issue?" Benni said, a look of real panic on his face. "What does that even mean? We're going to have to wait an  _hour_ to get on a dodgy plane?"

Mats was there to the rescue again, putting an arm around his boyfriend's shoulder, saying, "Calm down, Bene, it's probably something small and inconsequential, they just have to make sure the plane is fully functional before they set off. It's not going to be anything big."

"Why isn't the plane fully functional in the first place?" Benni said frantically. "I can't get on it, Mats, Jesus, I've steeled myself since goddamn morning to get on this flight and now I've just found out it's not safe-"

"It'll be _fine_ , Höwedes," Marco said. "It's a major national football team that's getting on this flight, if the plane isn't safe to get on they'll get another one straight away. You've flown a lot before and nothing has happened, right? I've been on planes literally my entire life and the worst I've ever experienced is a bit of turbulence. You'll be perfectly safe."

Marc-Andre grinned as he saw the expression on Marco's face- the Dortmund forward acted as though it was physically painful to reassure the Schalke centre-back, but Marc-Andre knew that Marco was really being nice instead of impatient, as he sounded.

"Funnily enough, Reus is absolutely right," Jogi said dryly. "Though I imagine words of comfort from _him_ aren't quite what you want to hear right now."

Benni didn't even look as though he had heard Marco speak, which explained the lack of a biting response. He was very pale.

"Sit him down and try and keep him calm. We don't need another Höwedes functional shutdown," Jogi ordered, and Mats led Benni over to some seats. "I'll go and confer with the airport staff and find out what's going on. All of you, try to remain in one place and not go ricocheting off the walls, please."

Almost the second he said that, the team exploded into noise and chatter. Fips and Leon came over to Benni to offer him some captainly support and the understanding of a former teammate respectively, while Mats rested his temple against Benni's, rubbing his back. Kai, who wasn't  _quite_ as frightened as the seriously aviophobic Benni, leaned over to put his chin on Julian's shoulder.

"Wow!" he said softly, regarding Benni. "I always thought he was super cool and collected, and someone who wouldn't be too spooked if he was faced with his fears. Turns out he  _does_ get spooked! Crazy, right?"

"He likes to say he's Bergkamp's spiritual successor," Julian snorted. "He had aviophobia too.  _Makings of a great player,_ being afraid of planes, according to Benni. I don't know about you, but for me, there is absolutely no correlation there. Bergkamp was a fucking second striker."

"Oh, hey, I don't agree that there's no correlation!" Kai said brightly. "I'm afraid of planes, and I'm a great player!" 

Julian gave him a look that was specially reserved for whenever Kai said what was, in Julian's opinion,  _dumbass shit._ Kai in turn gave Julian a look that said,  _you love me and my dumbass shit no matter how dumbass it really is._

Meanwhile, players were now discussing what they were going to do when they got to France- they spoke somewhat loudly so Benni could hear their confidence in the fact they were going to get to country in one piece. Jokes were flying around about Thomas, Jonas, Toni and the boots in the lake incident- and thus Thomas and Toni's rivalry during the Euros 2016 had been brought up again.

"Oh, yeah, I think I remember Thom throwing a hissy fit because I was the better attacking mid during the tournament," Toni said loudly to Jonas in the earshot of Thomas. "Constantly  _complaining,_ saying my 'Real Madrid essence' was clogging up his lungs- that was  _his_ explanation for why his tournament was dire, anyway. It probably clouded his eyes for _that_ penalty."

"And I think I remember Toni being an annoying idiot!" Thomas yelled at Toni. "We don't bring up that penalty! I swear, every shot I ever pulled off was stopped by  _voodoo_ _magic!_ "

Toni started coughing and an odd selection of words could be heard- "bottled", "Buffon" and "pass" were amongst them.

"Your  _face_ is a bottle!" Thomas informed him, turning back to his conversation with Miro, Mario and Manu. He couldn't exactly pull off a scorching roast because even he knew instinctively that his Euros performance had been... very poor. "So! What were you saying, Gomez?"

Mario shrugged. "I was just wondering how we'd celebrate if we won the next game versus France. We'd only have one game left after that, we'd be guaranteed top of the group, no? The Nations League is serving us well, Manu can probably pull off another clean sheet and we could get another couple of goals to add to our goal difference, too."

"We have to get through the game before deciding how we're going to celebrate, Mario," Miro said.

"Yeah, yeah, something, something, be humble, something."

"If we win, maybe we can go to that Biergarten, where Toni lost his sixty euros because of that Iceland bet. Perfect way to celebrate, eh, Manu?" Thomas said playfully, and then he turned to look at his boyfriend- and he paused.

Manu was holding his head tilted.

Manu held his head tilted like that whenever he was suddenly feeling overwhelmed by fear. Thomas had seen it before- once, after a particularly terrible night that had left both of them feeling downcast, they had been sitting in Marienplatz before training when Manu had miserably said he didn't want to go. He had then fallen silent, with his head on one side as if to rest it on his shoulder, and he had stayed in that posture for minutes at a time. Now all of a sudden he was doing it again, and Thomas could see tears welling in his eyes.

He felt Thomas' gaze on him. "I'm going to go to the toilet for a minute," he said, and then he turned around abruptly and walked away, as if wresting himself free.

"What's up?" Mario asked, watching Manu's retreating back.

"I don't think Manu is feeling too well," Thomas mumbled. 

"Really? That's too bad. Being on a plane will probably make him feel more sick," Mario said sympathetically. "Hope he feels better soon."

Thomas didn't know whether to go after Manu or not. On the one hand, if Manu just wanted to go to the toilet, it would look weird and somewhat suspicious if Thomas went with him, as if Manu couldn't do something as small as that by himself. On the other, Manu quite clearly was upset, and his relative silence this morning, and dishevelled state, made Thomas sure his boyfriend had had another bad night...

Benni, meanwhile, was feeling sick himself- with nerves. Mats had been whispering soothing words to him, but Benni could barely hear him, he was so nervous for the flight ahead. One thing that distracted him, however, was the sight of Manu turning around and leaving- the goalkeeper's stance had been very strange. He had been oddly tense, moving rigidly, as he had done so in the past on the mornings before big games...

It took an unusually long time for Manu to return from the toilet, and when he returned Benni was sure something was wrong. Manu rejoined Thomas' side, and his eyes looked bloodshot, as if he had been crying. Benni stared at him, trying to coax eye-contact out of the man, but Manu was motionless, his head still tilted slightly to one side.

"Feeling okay, Manuel?" Miro asked, when Thomas took hold of Manu's hand, giving it a discreet but nervous squeeze. 

"Yeah," Manu said quietly, after a moment's pause. "I just have a headache."

Mario didn't think he looked at all unwell.

Thomas started talking again, to cover up the fact Manu wasn't saying anything. Although he looked and sounded calm, Miro had known the man long enough to detect the tinge of anxiety behind Thomas' chatter. Mario seemed to recognise this too, but to Miro's relief he didn't enquire about anything, just joined in with the pretense at ordinary conversation. Manu continued not to speak, staring into space, his eyes almost glassy.

This stilted conversation seemed to last forever before Jogi finally arrived again, this time telling them that the plane was indeed perfectly okay to board, and there had just been some minor problems with pressure in the cabin. One might think that this would have reassured Benni, who was looking positively faint, but instead he looked even more horrified. Now he would have to board the plane after all, and wouldn't be able to reschedule and take a train... And after that 'technical issues' scare...

"You'll be fine," Mats intoned, taking Benni's hand. "Fine, fine, fine. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Do not let go of my hand for a single second," Benni ordered. "Or I will drop-kick you."

"Duly noted, honey."

Thomas slipped his hand into Manu's- and Manu immediately seized it with an iron grip, despite the fact he wasn't  _looking_ at Thomas. Thomas felt himself genuinely beginning to sweat, the fact he didn't know what had gotten Manu into this mood was really frightening him, but he kept himself cool and collected. He took his bearings from Miro, who was being quietly reassuring just with his very presence, letting Thomas know that he was here to help.

***

As predicted, the plane journey had been less than ideal.

After a bit of artful tussling from Marco, Bernd had found himself being forced into a seat next to Marc-Andre onboard the jet. Leroy had loudly and theatrically apologised to the Barcelona goalkeeper and had gone to sit by Jerome, and Marco had given them the tiniest shadow of a wink before merrily carrying on his way. Although Bernd had been grateful to Marco, however, he had actually been hoping for a chance to  _avoid_ sitting next to Marc-Andre for the plane journey. He had been too conflicted to keep up a normal conversation. His plan had been to sit next to Jonas, who never pushed for conversation and was very comfortable to sit in silence, but Jonas had ended up next to Toni instead. Bernd had felt jealous of Toni, the man had been able to plug himself into some music and retreat into his thoughts. Jonas had fallen asleep almost instantly, his head dropping onto Toni's shoulder, leaving them both in silence.

Bernd hadn't been so lucky. His conversations with Marc-Andre hadn't been  _bad-_ but that was precisely the problem. Uli's voice had been floating around in his head, along with the voice of all his friends and family, along with the voice in his own mind- asking him what the hell he was doing.  _Second keeper, third keeper, don't betray your own ambitions for someone else-_

The atmosphere of the team wasn't helping whatsoever with his distracted thoughts at the moment. The journey had not been smooth-sailing. Mats had hit Marco for making a very rude yet remarkably well-structured joke about his and Benni's sex life, and so he had earned himself an extra lap. Benni had spent a large portion of the flight throwing up (even Marco had refrained from commenting on this) and promising he was going to retire from football so he never had to fly ever again (Marco _did_ comment this time, with a rather predictable Schalke/European football joke, saying Benni need only retire from international football). Julian Draxler had gotten into a huge fight with Julian Brandt over the rules of Uno, and now Julian Brandt was listing all the ways in which he was the better Julian.

Owing to all this immaturity, it was very tense between certain parties when they left the plane, and Jogi once again was fast approaching the end of his tether.

As the team ambled out of the airport, the assembled press and photographers seemed very interested in the queasy, traumatised looking Benni, who was actively trying to avoid the lens of all the cameras. Marco strode in front of the cameras with his teeth bared in a grin so they all turned to him instead and started snapping. Jerome was texting Robert again. Toni was assisting a very sleepy and puzzled Jonas.

Fips had noticed Manu and Thomas' uncharacteristic sobriety by now and was worried. He knew better than to ask directly what was going on, but his exchange of looks with Basti, who had seen Manu and Thomas looking so somber during the club season before, only concerned him more.

"Mülli looks really torn up," Basti said nervously. "So does Manu. This isn't normal, yet I've been seeing it so much recently."

"Mülls is never this quiet, you're right," Lukas agreed. "And Miro's been dad-projecting on him and Manu all this while." 

This was true. Miro was walking almost like a bodyguard behind Manu and Thomas, despite how normal he looked talking to Mario. 

Fips couldn't think of an answer as to why the loudest person in the squad was so quiet and the most collected person looked so shaken.  Leon, however, despite being on his phone again, surprised him by speaking up.

"Manu never looks like he gets enough sleep anymore," he said. "There was a whole stage during the last international break where he genuinely looked ill. And remember that match against Hertha he missed with a 'viral infection'? Maybe he has a medical issue."

"It's possible," Fips said. But he didn't offer any more speculation- he didn't think it was seemly for the captain of the team to gossip about one of his players, even if it was in concern. If Manu wanted to talk to them, he could. 

In spite of the differing moods of the players, France seemed inviting to the team. The press, buoyed by the roaring form and recent wins of the German National Team, seemed excitable and friendly rather than foreboding. There were fans scattered about who were waving and cheering, and some yelled, "HECTOR VOR, NOCH EIN TOR!"

Jonas looked discombobulated.

Press conferences would come, but it was time for them to get to the hotel. There was almost an urgency to Thomas' movement now- he really didn't want to linger around any longer, signing autographs or currying favour with the journalists. There was a set of cars for the team and they all got in, still shining after their hero's welcome, ready to get some rest.

The journey through Paris to the hotel seemed to last forever. The city sparkled at night but all Thomas could see was an all-encompassing grey- the grey of his worry. Manu remained silent and his head remained tilted all throughout the car-ride. Thomas swallowed heavily and shifted once in his seat, but otherwise he was unnervingly still.

There was only half-hearted protestation from Steno when they reached the hotel, but they knew by now there was no point in complaining, they had to room together and that was that. Marc-Andre gave Bernd a bruising elbow to the ribs that outwardly looked hostile but was really friendly when the team set off to their individual rooms- Bernd responded with a strained smile.

When Thomas and Manu finally,  _finally_ got to their room, it felt like they had escaped something that had been following them all the way here- a large black dog, constantly leaping after them, making them feel as though they were in danger. The tension in Thomas' shoulders relaxed somewhat but the tightness in his heart did not when he stepped inside. Manu strode into the room leaving his luggage in the doorway, threw himself onto the bed, and started weeping so despairingly he sounded like he was going to choke.

"Manu," Thomas said, stroking the back of Manu's neck to calm him down. Manu was quaking so viciously the bed shook.

"It's not working. It's not working." Manu's words were distorted, spluttered, barely comprehensible. "Nothing's working."

"What isn't working?" Thomas whispered. 

"It's not working," Manu repeated. "I can't do this. I can't."

"Please, Manu, calm down," Thomas said. He made his voice mechanical, tried to remove any emotion from it so Manu didn't feel more overwhelmed. "Just breathe. You're not breathing."

It was a panic attack. Manu's shoulders were heaving, he was slowly losing his grip on reality and Thomas knew he needed to bring his boyfriend back. Steadying himself, he got down onto his knees and continued stroking Manu's neck, whispering soothing words. Manu clutched the sheets with his fists and refused to remove his face from the mattress, until Thomas managed to physically move him, afraid he would lose oxygen. 

Manu's eyes were extremely red. Thomas could see fear on his face and wanted to slap himself. Despite him saying to Manu over and over again that setbacks were bound to happen, he himself had forgotten this and was too taken aback to rationally think of what to do.

Eventually, Manu stopped his vicious sobbing, but he kept trembling, silent tears running down his face. Thomas kept speaking, although he barely understood his own words- he didn't know what to say in reassurance. Finally, the main effects of the panic attack seemed to ease off, but Manu still looked agonisingly miserable.

"What's wrong?" Thomas murmured, when Manu's rapid breathing eased somewhat- it was still shaky. 

"I can't do this," Manu whispered back. "I can't, Thommy."

"What can't you do?" Thomas persisted. "Please talk to me, baby. Say what you can."

"Any of it. I can't do any of it," Manu wept. "I can't pretend. I can't play. My head is driving me mad."

"Was last night bad again?" Thomas didn't even need to ask, but he needed Manu to confirm things, to acknowledge things with his own words. Manu started shaking again.

"It's  _always_ bad. It'll always be bad. I can't lie anymore, Thommy. I can't get on the pitch in front of that crowd. I can't talk to my teammates. They'll know."

"Setbacks happen. Remember what you said, you're going to keep fighting. And it's going to be hard," Thomas said. "You _can_ do all these things. You're telling yourself you can't because you're scared, but Manu, I promise you, it'll be okay."

"If you had my head for just half an hour, you'd know why I go mad," Manu sobbed.

Thomas closed his eyes. "I know I don't really know what it's like. And I can't help you as much as the therapist will. But I'm here to help you, Manu, no matter how bad it gets."

"I can't hide it anymore. I'm only human."

"Yes. You are human," Thomas insisted. "So remember that you're not invulnerable, these things happen. But it can be helped."

Manu shook his head. "It can't. It  _can't._ Last night was so bad. After the match I thought it'd be okay, it was a  _good_ game. But over and over again- I slept, I saw things, I woke up, I felt fear, I slept again, I saw things again- I woke up again- nothing can flush it out-"

"You should've woken me."

"Not again," was all Manu said to this. "Not again. I couldn't have done it again. I can't do any of this again. It's too much. I can't play. I don't know how I ever thought I could deal with it-"

"You thought it because you were thinking rationally," Thomas said. "Right now you're not. Please breathe, calm down and think, Manu. Remember what you said to me? Remember how you said that you were going to perservere?"

Manu shook his head again. "It was never going to happen."

_This happens in mental health. You think you're moving upwards but then you slip and land back on a lower level again. You feel hopeless, you feel afraid, recovery isn't always romantic and sweet, it can be harsh and frightening. Remember, Thomas, he's going through a hard moment- there'll be many of them. You have to stick with him through this._

"It will happen," Thomas said fiercely. "It will happen. This moment won't last forever. Happiness won't last forever. But you have to learn to get through these lows so you can appreciate the highs. We can fight through this, Manu. You're seeing the therapist, Hugo, remember? He can help you. Miro and I can help you. You can do this."

Manu kept on shaking his head, almost obsessively. "Please tell Jogi I can't play. Tell him I'm ill. I can't take this anymore. I won't be able to perform. I know I won't."

Thomas bowed his head, close to tears. He didn't want to let Manu give in. But he knew he couldn't force his boyfriend to play in a state like this-who knew whether it would take days or even weeks to make him feel better again, playing would only worsen the tormenting pressure on him. He needed to recuperate, to take a mental health break. Manu had been fighting against the tension for so long but he hadn't been allowing himself the chance to relax.

"I'll talk to Jogi," Thomas whispered. "You can see the doctor. You need some rest. You need to sleep properly."

"No, I don't," Manu spat. "That was the cause of all these problems in the first place."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reality rule obviously miro didn't play against italy in the euros but you can eat my ass he did in this fic
> 
> hahaha kepa arrizabalaga. what an absolute disgrace, i'm laughing so hard caballero is no.1 from now on. sarri and chelsea are in such a miserable state i love it
> 
> a badly structured chapter written by elise hummel? it is 100% likely
> 
> repeat after me- setbacks happen but you always move forwards. story of manus life THINGS GET BETTER BUT THERE ARE HARD MOMENTS


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 18!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus leute. 3-0 loss, the atmosphere in our squad is so toxic at the moment. AT LEAST BAYERN ARE DOING THE JOB FOR ME!!!!! WHO THE FUCK CARES ABOUT ELISE'S LOSS WHEN OUR BOYS WON 5-1!!!! WHAT A PERFORMANCE, GOTTA BE ONE OF THE BEST THIS SEASON!!! MASTERCLASS AGAINST A TOUGH OPPONENT!!!! DORTMUND WEEP YOU MOTHERFUCKERS, ONLY 2 GOALS BETWEEN US!!!
> 
> warning: i am not a medical professional i knwo absolutely nothing lmao
> 
> also it's another long chapter yikes, long and messy. i hope yall like it?

There was a knock on the door.

Manu hadn't moved from the spot since Thomas had left the room to find the team doctor. He was still draped across his bed, staring blankly into space- his eyes were burning because he was barely blinking. When he heard the knock he felt a sudden visceral fear erupting inside of him. It surely wasn't Thomas, he wouldn't knock. It was someone else, expecting something from him, wanting him to get up and walk and talk and interact-

He buried his face into the bed and ignored them, hoping they would get the message and go away. Usually teammates gave up trying to make contact quickly if they didn't receive a response straight away, because they rightfully assumed that either sex or some other illicit activity was going on inside the room. The fact that they knew Manu was there was also a factor as to why he and Thomas didn't get bothered much. He hoped this would be more of the same.

But the person knocked again. Manu's breath hitched in his throat and he shook his head, his fists tightening on the bedsheets he had clutched in his hands. His mind was running wild and he knew that there was no way he wanted anyone to see him in the state he was in now...  _Please go away..._

This person was persistent.  _Bang, bang, bang._

"Manu? Are you in there?" they called out. "I just saw Thomas leaving your room in a state. Please open the door."

Manu froze as he recognised the voice. It was  _Benni._

 _Fuck._ Benni wasn't going to go away until he saw evidence of Manu being okay with his own two eyes. Manu felt panic rising within him again. He was so wired, so tired, he couldn't even muster the energy to move his head towards the door, let alone get up to open it, and act for Benni of all people.

"Please," Benni said. "We haven't talked enough recently, and that's my fault. I just want to know if you're okay. That's it. I'm worried."

Tears were rising in Manu's eyes again.

"Nobody's out here. Nobody will see you if you open the door." 

Manu closed his eyes so they didn't spill over.  _Please, Benni, I don't want you to see me like this. I don't want to have a conversation about what I've stopped telling you. I don't want you to see what I've become._

"Manu-"

"Hey, Benni, what are you doing out here?" another voice sounded from outside the door. It was Leon.

"I was just..." Manu could hear Benni hestitating. "Just wanted to ask Manu something, but I don't think he's in there. What do you want?"

"We need your help, Mats has locked Marco out on the balcony and he's refusing to open the door." Leon sounded totally indifferent, such affairs were everyday in this team. "We need your authority to get him to move, Fips sent me to get you."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Mats is the limit. Can't we just leave Reus out there?" Benni said stormily. " _Ugh._  I'll come with you and talk to that fucking buffoon." 

"God help him."

There was silence. Manu listened hard, but he couldn't hear Benni and Leon talking anymore- he assumed that meant both of them weren't standing outside his door anymore. The knot of tension between his shoulders relaxed, but his insides were still twisting. He let his head fall against the pillow again, listening to his own shallow breathing, embracing the darkness that did not oust the ache of his eyes. 

A few minutes later, or was it an hour later, Manu couldn't tell, he heard the door open again. This time he knew it was Thomas from his heavy gait, but also because his boyfriend was talking.

"-he felt dizzy and sick, and so he needed to lie down-"

"Dizzy spells. They can accompany a flu virus, yes. Herr Hummels suffered it from himself, it's perfectly likely that Herr Neuer has contracted the illness from the man, you're all cooped up together, after all," Dr Müller-Wohlfahrt's voice responded. "Let's take a look at him."

Manu shifted his head to the side, removing his face from the pillow. The throbbing of his head seemed to be excacerbated by the sound of other human voices.

"Guten Tag, Herr Neuer," Dr Wohlfahrt said amiably, sitting down next to him. "Herr Müller has informed me that you have been feeling ill, I just want to take a quick look at your symptoms. Is that okay?" 

"Ja," Manu croaked. Thomas winced from the side at how terrible his voice sounded.

"We could do with some water, Herr Müller," Dr Wohlfahrt chuckled. Thomas nodded and wordlessly went to get a glass. "Ok, Herr Neuer, how long have you been feeling this sickness for?"

Manu looked for Thomas. He was feeling inexplicably breathless again. Dr Wohlfahrt was waiting patiently for a response, but Manu felt as though the doctor was dissecting him with his eyes, coldly analysing every second of his silence- his chest constricted again, he hurried to think of a response.

"Heute morgen?" he whispered. "Ich erinnere mich nicht."

Thomas returned with the water. He handed Manu the glass- for a fraction of a second their fingers brushed and Manu knew that he was safe. He took a large gulp of water and a deep breath.

"Heute morgen," the doctor repeated, frowning at him. "Ok, is it nausea you're feeling? Dizziness?" 

Manu nodded. 

"Ok, also, ich werde deine Temperatur messen." Doctor Wohlfahrt picked up a thermometer. "Any stomach issues?"

Manu shook his head. He tried not to flinch as Doctor Wohlfahrt leaned towards him with the thermometer.

"Well, it all looks in order, no temperature," Doctor Wohlfahrt said, once he had checked his findings. "But you're shivering right now, and you look to be very exhausted. Do you have a known history with migraines? They can cause fatigue."

Manu shook his head again. 

"Do you get enough sleep?" Doctor Wohlfahrt suggested.

Manu tried not to recoil, he knew this question would be coming up. He hadn't really thought about what he was going to say to the doctor when he inevitably found out nothing was physically wrong with Manu, all he had wanted was a medical reason to skip playing...

"This is a very tiring, stressful job. Sleep is crucial to maintaining your health," Doctor Wohlfahrt continued after a few moments of Manu's silence, almost prompting him...

Manu looked away, then finally said, "I didn't get much sleep last night." 

"I see." Doctor Wohlfahrt was looking carefully at Manu- he had started visibly trembling again. He couldn't control it. Thomas moved over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. "That could be lending to your feeling of dizziness and nausea now. Do you have a headache?"

Manu nodded. His head was thumping at that very moment,  _thump thump thump,_ it hurt so much...

"How often would you say you do sleep enough, Herr Neuer?" 

"Not as much as I should." This was closest thing he could say to the truth, if bizarrely understated.

"Well, this could explain things. Perhaps," the doctor said delicately. "You could be suffering from something stress-induced."

Manu couldn't look at him for another second. Thomas started rubbing his back again.

"I cannot discern anything physiological from your symptoms, I am sensing a more psychological element to it. It's understandable." Doctor Wohlfahrt looked thoughtful. "I cannot press you for details. But I do empathise. This is a difficult job to do, and pressure can get to you. Anxiety is very normal."

 _No. No. This wasn't what he wanted to be hearing._ Manu's breathing was starting to grow more rapid again. 

"I think you really need to sleep, Herr Neuer," the doctor said quietly. "You look exhausted. And on-edge. Perhaps you also need some muscle relaxation techniques, psychological tension can also go along with physical tension."

"Doctor Wohlfahrt," Manu said hoarsely.

The man looked at him steadily.

"I know I'm not really sick. B-But..." his voice trailed off, he couldn't put his thoughts together quickly enough. The icy, creeping fear had returned again, full-force, and he was trying to stop himself from hyperventilating. "I don't think I can play." 

Thomas bit his lip.

Doctor Wohlfahrt nodded. "I can imagine that your exhaustion could be leading you to feel unmotivated. Has training been difficult for you?"

Even though Manu had come into the break with the reassurance he would start seeing Hugo in the back of his mind, his problems hadn't gone away just like that. He nodded. 

Doctor Wohlfahrt sighed. Medical professionals in sport were often under immense pressure to send players out on painkillers even if they were on their deathbed. And this was  _Manuel Neuer,_ easily one of the most important players in the world, let alone for Germany. But the keeper also had a very talented back-up- which was good, because Manu barely looked capable of conducting a proper conversation at the moment, let alone a solid goalkeeping performance. 

"It is difficult, Herr Neuer," the doctor said. "You're an invaluable asset to the team. But you also need to consider your own mental health. It won't do to have a keeper so on-edge in the squad."

Thomas winced at the wording- he knew the doctor wasn't trying to say Manu was a burden because of how he was feeling, but he also knew that Manu was going to take it that way. He saw it from the way Manu blanched.

"You need your rest. I can sign you off for training with a flu virus, they'll believe it, as it impacted Herr Hummels, too. I can talk to Herr Löw. Herr ter Stegen is there to replace you," Doctor Wohlfahrt said decisively. "Maybe some time off will benefit you, you footballers work too hard. Sleep, a break from training... it will do you good." 

Manu didn't know about that. All he wanted was a chance to escape any prying eyes. He was so tired... He didn't feel like he could do anything anymore, but he didn't want anyone to see his decay... But fucking hell, the doctor  _knew_ that Manu was in a bad mental state...

"Danke, Doctor Wohlfahrt," Thomas said for him, because Manu couldn't say anything, he was already in another spiral of thoughts. "This is really kind of you."

"No worries. Mental health is as important as physical health," the doctor said. "Rest, Herr Neuer. I can prescribe you sleeping tablets if getting to sleep is a problem."

"That would be good."

When the doctor was gone, Manu started to cry again. Thomas sat by his side and stroked his hair back from his face, humming a tune to try and soothe him.

"It'll be okay. You're okay. You don't have to train. You can take a break. And nobody will suspect anything," Thomas whispered. "They'll just think it's the flu."

Manu shook his head. "He knew. He  _knew._ He thinks I'm a nutjob. I'm a burden for the team."

"He never said anything like that. He just said you needed some rest."

"He knows I'm crazy."

"You're not crazy. You're tired, Manu, you need to sleep. Don't get yourself paranoid about what Doctor Wohlfahrt thinks now," Thomas said firmly. "He's a medical professional and he keeps everything strictly confidential. He's just here to help."

Manu buried his head into the pillow.

"Look, you have some time off. You can relax, you've been driving yourself up the wall with all this pressure," Thomas said softly. "I know you hate sleeping, but you really need to now. You have no responsibilities for a while, only a few players are doing pressers and everyone else is off. Just sleep. Calm down. I'm here."

Manu could feel his crushing exhaustion weighing on his eyelids. "Benni knows something's wrong."

"Don't think about anyone else now," Thomas said quietly, though he kept this in mind. "Just close your eyes. You're safe."

"Thommy..." Manu whispered. The room was so warm. And suddenly the lights had dimmed. "Bleib bei mir."

He felt Thomas' hand resting against his temple.

"Immer."

***

"Luki, you know what I've forgotten?"

Lukas was unpacking some of the contents of his suitcase when Basti's voice rang out to address him. His boyfriend was sprawled out in bed, apparently too exhausted to do anything for himself, scrolling through his phone, when he suddenly let out a yell and hurled the device across his bed. Lukas gave him a wary look as he uncoiled his hairdryer.

"Don't tell me it's one of your Bavarian friends' wedding, and that we have to drive across the country to turn up as last minute guests again," he sighed.

"That was  _one time._ Dutch motorways really do have disgusting congestion, it was amazing that we actually turned up there on time at all," Basti said distractedly. And then he waved a hand in front of his face as if to clear his vision. "No, no, it's nothing like that. It's about something we were talking about before the international break."

"Yeah?" Lukas said. "What was it?" 

"Remember when we were texting? And you told me you had something to tell me, but you refused to tell me at the time, and told me I had to wait until we got together again?" Basti asked, reaching for his phone again and waving it in the air. "You never  _did_ tell me what it was. I kind of messed things up by being a crying little bitch and bringing up my emotional baggage... Then I kind of just forgot about it..."

"You weren't being a little bitch," Lukas said absently. And then he frowned, genuinely not remembering that conversation for a moment, and then the gears in his brain clicked and his whole face lit up. "Oh, shit,  _yeah!_ "

"Remember?" Basti said, grinning, getting onto his knees on the bed and bouncing up and down excitedly. "You have to tell me, now, Luki, you've left me in suspense for too long!"

"Technically I haven't, you forgot all about it," Lukas pointed out. "But I'll tell you, Jesus, it's tea. You're going to kill me for not telling you about it earlier."

"I'll kill you right now if you don't tell me this instant-" 

"Patience, patience, Basti," Lukas said, holding up his hands. Basti gave him a look that did not express said sentiment. "I'm going to tell you now. I don't even know where to begin with this shit."

Basti made an irritable noise. "Don't give me loads of build-up, just drop the bombshell now and  _then_ explain it all. I can't wait for a second longer."

"Okay," Lukas conceded. "But you have to promise me you won't tell anyone."

"It depends on what it is!" Basti said.

Under the force of Lukas' gaze he changed his answer. "Fine, I won't tell anybody."

"Good!" Lukas said. "Okay, Basti, get ready. Are you ready? You've got to make sure you're ready. If you're not ready you're going to be in for a nasty shock. Maybe we need to wait for a bit for you to pull yourself together-"

"LUKI!"

Lukas burst out laughing at how red his boyfriend's face was. Getting Basti worked up and excited about something was a fun pastime of his. 

"Okay, okay, I'll say it. Steno is real. They got together a week or so before the international break, or something like that," he said, with the air of someone saying as inconsequential as what they had eaten for lunch.

Downplaying things ridiculously so Basti had to do a double-take and think about what had actually been said was another thing he got a little kick out of.

"Wait..." Basti actually looked confused for a moment, and then his eyes blew wide and he looked horrified. "WHAT?"

Lukas spread his arms wide and took a bow. "You heard what I said. Steno. Is. Real.  They did the deed. They're a couple."

Basti looked rather like he did when he got nutmegged. Disbelieving.

"Utter _bullshit_ ," he said emphatically. "You're actually so full of shit, Jesus Christ. Steno aren't together. For fuck's sake, this was the Mesami 'screenshotted nudes' situation all over again. You _dickhead_."

"It isn't, they really are together!" Lukas slapped his thigh, he was laughing so hard. "I'm not bullshitting you this time! I mean it!"

"Oh, fuck off, as if, how dumb do you think I am?" Basti said, shaking his head, actually looking annoyed. "I can't believe I was that excited for some real tea, only for you to hit me with your nonsense. You weren't even trying with that one, Luki."

"I didn't need to try anything, it's true!" Lukas was practically in tears. "If you don't believe me, let me show you some evidence!"

He rooted in his pocket for his phone, shaking with mirth, as Basti folded his arms and scowled, resolutely not believing a word his boyfriend was saying. He was sure Lukas' 'evidence' was just going to be a stupid meme or an embarrassing video, not anything real or concrete.

Lukas had fortunately screenshotted all the relevant conversations at the time they had happened, so he could unveil them when Steno finally made themselves public- which was good, because it meant he didn't have to scroll through endless messages. He swiped to the conversation that started the whole story, Mesut's explanation to him about Steno, and handed the phone to Basti.

"Absolute Pferdescheiße," Basti said aggravatedly. He sat down at the foot of his bed, still looking grumpy, and started to read.

Lukas absolutely lost control as he watched the slow transformation of Basti's mood as he looked through the conversations. His boyfriend's cross expression morphed ever so slowly into a look of complete awe- he swiped through the screenshots in almost a dreamlike state, his eyes comically wide. Lukas fell backwards onto his bed and pounded the mattress, wheezing, but Basti didn't pay him the slightest bit of heed. His boyfriend was as important to him at the moment as Bernd was to the team. The tea was the only thing that mattered.

Eventually Basti finished reading. He looked up from Lukas' phone and at Lukas, who had finally managed to calm himself down but was watching him eagerly all the same.

"Well?" Lukas cried. "Do you believe me now?"

Basti nodded slowly. He seemed to be in a state of shock. 

"I... I knew it," he said quietly. "They really  _are_ the biggest joke of the team."

He threw himself back onto his bed, spread-eagled, staring up at the ceiling. 

"Why?" he moaned melodramatically to the heavens. "What has happened to our noble team? O' Jurgen Klinsmann, it was your departure that started it all, I know it was, we were normal before you left. God, Dante didn't invent enough circles of hell to describe this shitshow."

Lukas laughed, leaping onto Basti's bed and lying down next to him. "Don't pretend you're not secretly doing backflips."

"I'm doing backflips into a volcano. Jesus  _Christ,_ Luki. Jesus Christ!" Basti looked at Lukas as if seeking an explanation for an unparalleled horror. "He went to Barcelona!"

"He went to Barcelona," Lukas confirmed.

"He confessed his love!"

"He confessed his love," Lukas repeated.

"They done did the deed!"

"They done did," Lukas said gravely.

Basti shook his head, burying his head into Lukas' shoulder. "So  _that's_ why they've been behaving like such degenerates. All of ter Stegen's stammering and yammering, Manu eviscerating them,  _everything._ Es ist  _unglaublich._ Warum ist dieses Team voll mit verdammten Idioten?"

"I asked that myself," Lukas sighed. "I guess I would have to include myself in that category too, though. I was the one who encouraged Leno to do something about this shit in the first place."

Basti gave Lukas an appalled look. " _You encouraged_   _them?_ " 

"I did, yeah," Lukas said, looking at Basti warily. 

"Oh, my God. Now you've gone and done it," Basti laughed in disbelief. "You've probably just gone and ruined both of their careers and romantic lives. You've probably ruined Manu's life, too. You thought them getting together was a good idea? Leno will be driven insane by jealousy and will end up getting dropped from the team again, mark my words. Manu will be driven insane by the fact they inevitably won't be able to focus at all during training because they'll be walking on eggshells about this whole  _second keeper thing._   _Wow,_ what a mess."

"Hey, now, I didn't tell him to fly to Barcelona on a whim and confess his love, I told him to fix his relationship with ter Stegen, to stop it being so bitter and hostile. He took my words a little too literally and went and fucked the guy," Lukas said dubiously. "You really think it'll be that bad?"

"Let's look at some of our past teammates in comparison," Basti suggested. "Jens and Oli weren't exactly bosom buddies. Hildebrand didn't take kindly to being sidelined in 2008. And Marc-Andre and Bernd are the same  _age._ They've been fighting for as long as we've known them. The fucking state of affairs!"

"If they love each other, then surely they'll be able to work past that," Lukas said doubtfully. "Like... like us, and our long-distance problems...?"

"It's not the same at all, though, they're completely different situations," Basti said. "Look, neither of them are the same as Manu. Neither of them are good enough to be the undisputed number one for nearly a decade. They  _have_ to duke it out. They're too young and too immature to make decisions like this. They're not us, Luki. We actually had a friendship before we decided to get together, a friendship that lasted for years. They've been lying to each other, and resenting each other, for nearly a decade. It's ridiculous."

"Yeah, I know that. That's why I told Bernd to fix his relationship with Marc-Andre. But the idiot went to Barcelona and had sex with him instead," Lukas sighed. "Wow, Basti, this wasn't how I expected you to react to the tea."

"Of course I love it, this is surreal, but come on!" Basti laughed. "It's going to end in disaster. You talked about our long-distance problems. Have you considered they'll be going through the exact same thing, once this break is over?"

Lukas thought about this. "Oh..."

"Mmhmm," Basti said, as understanding dawned on his boyfriend's face. "Marc-Andre will be in Barcelona. Bernd will be in London. Marc-Andre will be winning in Barcelona. Bernd will... not be winning in London. I'm sure that'll cultivate a lovely feeling of warmth and unity between them." 

"This isn't my fault," Lukas said.

"I'm not saying it is. These kids are out of control, they're driven by horniness and wild passion and not by fucking common sense. They haven't experienced as much as we have, they don't know how difficult it is to handle shit like this," Basti said, shaking his head. "I might be talking out of my ass, but I don't think they're ready for this at all. I want them to be happy, obviously, but I don't think they will be. And if they're taking any sort of advice from  _Mesut_ and  _Sami,_ God help them."

Lukas hesitated. This was all very, very, true. 

"Oh, come on," he said finally. "The kids will turn out fine. We've got to have hope, no? If _we_ had never had any hope we wouldn't be where we are now. Nobody ever said any of this was easy."

"True," Basti sighed. "It's not our problem, anyway. We're not the relationship police. I do hope they'll be able to get through it. I'm just worried for them. I don't want them both to get burned."

"Maybe they'll rise above their competitive natures and grow even closer together. Who knows? Relationships on this team never work normally," Lukas sighed. 

The two of them stared up at the lights of their hotel room. Basti was still shaking his head mutely, thinking about everything he had just read. 

"I'm not going to be able to look at them without fucking dying on the spot, what have you done, Luki?" he sighed. "I'm being asked to do the impossible. I can't keep this secret."

"You _have_ to keep it secret," Lukas said sternly. "No giggling, no running off to gossip with Fips, no telling Mülli.  _Please_ don't tell Mülli."

Basti pouted. "Who  _can_ I gossip with, then? Who knows about it? Does Mario know?"

" _Mario?_ Are you crazy? He's the most gossipy person on this damn squad, everyone would know within the hour if he found out," Lukas said. "The only people who know are the people who you saw in those text conversations. Me, Mesut, Sami and Leroy."

"I can't believe  _Mesut_ _and Sami_ knew about it before me. I'm actually so offended," Basti said crossly. "I guess I can gossip with Leroy about it. If I talked to the Chuckle Brothers about it I'd probably die with laughter at their audacity."

"You can gossip with  _me._ I'm great at gossiping," Lukas soothed him. "I know it's difficult for you to keep things secret, and that I'm depriving you of your opportunity to indulge in the drama. But we don't want to make the lives of those idiot kids harder, okay?"

Basti gave a long and dramatic groan. "We're getting old, Luki. We've taken up the positions of worriers. We _never_ used to be worriers. We used to be the ones that got worried  _about._ "

"You've got that right. Now we're in charge of it all. We've got to keep everything together," Lukas said. "We're comrades-in-arms with Fips and Miro now. What a horrifying thought."

"I'm going _grey_ , Luki, this is a disaster," Basti sighed, smoothing his hair, looking preoccupied. "I guess, as vice-captain, I have to do my role and behave myself. This sucks."

Lukas took Basti's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "It'll come out eventually. Reus will discover their secret and expose it to the whole squad, everyone will have fun at their expense and then eventually we'll get over it and be happy for them. Then you'll get to gossip right in front of their faces. Don't fret."

"When you put it like that, it doesn't sound so bad," Basti said thoughtfully. "Do you know what this means, though, Luki? One couple is crossed off the list. There are only a few single gays left. Jonas, Toni, Leon, Serge, Leroy, Julian Brandt, Kai, though he's too young to be dating, Niklas, although I don't know if he's still flirting with Rudy, Mario, Miro, Fips, Per..." 

"Oh, come on. Toni is the straightest of the straight. He was married to a woman, and he has  a son. He's so straight he didn't even know about Mesami."

"Oh yeah, I forgot the one and the only!" Basti said dramatically (he hadn't forgotten at all- he had just wanted said dramatic effect). "Mesami! Anyway, I refuse to believe anyone on _this_ squad can be fully straight, even someone like Toni. He and Jonas have been pretty matey recently. As the original gay, I'd like to say I have a pretty refined sense for these things."

Lukas burst out laughing. " _Toni_ and  _Jonas?_ That's a good one, Basti. You clearly don't have that good of a sense if you think  _that's_ possible." 

"Maybe you're right. Maybe Jonas' natural charm just makes Toni nicer." 

"Anyway, Mesami are the only solidly defined gays left, who we  _know_ about," Lukas said. "Leon and Julian, I don't think they're thinking about anyone in particular. Niklas is still trying to win over Sebastian. Mario Gomez... who even knows about him? Miro..." 

He and Basti exchanged a look, both of them thinking of a disastrous tournament over a decade ago, and divorce papers four or five years back. Without saying anything, they hurriedly moved on. 

"Then there's  _Fips,_ " Lukas declared. "Our Fips." 

"Fips' sexuality is a paradox. He's too straight-laced to be part of the gays. But it'd also be just the perfect level of surreal for this team if he was," Basti giggled. "Maybe he has a wife and kids living in a cabin in Switzerland, maybe he's fucking Per, maybe he and Jogi really do have a thing going on on the sly. Who knows, with him?"

"If he was with anyone, he'd tell us," Lukas said dubiously. "We're his besties, we've been with him for  _years._ If Fips had a boyfriend, or girlfriend, we'd be the first to know about it."

"Absolutely," Basti affirmed. "We'd be the most supportive friends ever. Fips knows that. We have so much tact."

"Right? Our tact levels are off the charts when it comes to Fips. We know him so well. We'd never compromise his privacy." 

"Literally! We know him  _better_ than well.  I've seen Fips hula-hooping. You don't get much closer than that."

" _You've seen Fips doing WHAT?_ "

"Oh my God, did I forget to show you the videos from Oktoberfest? Didn't Robert upload them all?"

"I didn't see a hula-hoop in any of them!"

"Are you fucking kidding me? Lewandowski missed a trick! I have to show you them now, oh my  _LORD-_ "

"AH! What the fuck is that? Look at his face! He's smiling! Oh, my God!"

"He was  _so. Fucking. Drunk._ I can't  _believe_ Lewandowski didn't post those!"

"We just have to do it ourselves! We have to send them to  _everybody!_ Basti, we have work to do!"

***

The Director of Media for the DFB was on the prowl. Martin Christ was by all means a very nice man, and the team  _did_ like him- until he came knocking on their doors, asking them if they were up for a press conference. Then they all wished for him to vanish from existence. 

Mario Gomez had been alone and vulnerable when the man had come calling for him. Miro had left the room after receiving a text message, saying quickly and quietly that he had to go and speak to Thomas. Mario had watched him go, wishing him luck for whatever was going on. It was probably something to do with Manu- the keeper had been behaving very strangely recently.

He had been about to unpack his things when he heard the tap on his door. Given the fact his door wasn't being banged down, he assumed that it had to be a staff member, and not a teammate, who wanted to see him or Miro. When he opened the door and saw Christ, he panicked. 

"Miro's just left the room," he said very quickly. But Christ's expression told him Miro wasn't the one he wanted to see. "Oh, Herr Christ, please don't tell me I have to go and do a fucking presser-"

"Jogi has requested you to go specifically, Herr Gomez, I'm sorry," the man said sympathetically. "He wants to defend his choice of you for the squad, and he wants you to talk a little about what you're going to do for the Nationalelf. The papers are very interested in you."

"'Interested'? They fucking hate me. They just want to take out-of-context quotes of mine, spin them as promises I've made and put more pressure on me to perform," Mario lamented. "How am I meant to know what I'm going to do for the Nationalelf? I can't decide if I play or not."

"Mario, Mario. You know they don't care about that. They'll ask you about being benched, that's a story too, Mario Gomez being benched. You're one of the players under the most scrutiny, you always have been. You can go and dispel some of that, put on a good, confident impression in front of the journalists and hopefully back it up against France."

"Or I could go out there, talk a load of shit, and have it flung back in my face after I prove myself to be a colossal fucking failure again." 

Christ winced. "That's not the spirit. You're no failure. Come on, Herr Gomez, people love their defiant players, players who have their jaw set, players who have a steely, faraway look in their eyes even when they're being lambasted and booed against. Show the German people why you got selected! Show  _Bild,_ show the public that whistle you that you're not going to back down!"

"How about I leak my nudes on the internet so they shift their attention to that instead? That'd take some pressure off my playing, at least," Mario said derisively. "People will always hate me, no matter how fucking defiant I look."

Christ gave him an unimpressed look. "Put on your tracksuit. You're going. Jogi says so, that's that. You don't have to do the post-match one, but you have to do this one. See you in a bit."

Mario cursed with great volume and expression as he pulled on his DFB-issued tracksuit reserved for press conferences or public events. This was so ridiculous. If he was going to be on the bench for the next game, why on Earth did he  _matter_ to the journalists? But he supposed his issues with Stuttgart and the distinctly un-fairytale like twist his career had taken was cause for them to be curious about how he would amend himself with the national team, especially because of the new fancy  _Nations League._

He got a sheaf of paper and picked up a pen, and scribbled a note to Miro-  _Am being forced to do a presser!!!! This is so ridiculous, I am going to make them hate me more!!! It should be you- the media and fans love you more than we do! Don't know when I'll be back, hope everything's okay with Thomas+Manu. Mario x_

When he got down to the lobby, he got to see what other players had been forced along to the conference as well. There were three others- Fips, Jonas and  _Kai._

Fips, as captain, was an obvious pick to go and talk to the journalists. Jonas' amazing form for Germany despite his position in the 2.Bundesliga would be material for them too, there would probably be plenty of uncomfortable questions about Köln and his future on the national team for the left-back to fend off. But  _Kai?_

"How did you get dragged along?" Mario asked sympathetically, as they all were ushered along by team staff. The boy looked incredibly nervous, but also excited. 

"Herr Christ said it's because I'm Germany's future!" Kai said brightly. "And because it's my first senior international call-up, and I got my first cap against the Netherlands! Journalists want to get their first impressions of what I'm like as a person! I hope I don't mess it up!"

"Do you...  _want_ to do it?" Mario asked. "You could've said no, I'm sure Christ would have let you off. There's a lot of pressure involved with this stuff, you're only a kid."

"I can't avoid them forever, right?" Kai said mysteriously. "I need to face off the pressure, I can't avoid it, there'll only be more in the future. I want to take the challenge early on and prove I can handle the heat."

"That's... very mature, Kai," Mario said thoughtfully. And he had been offering to leak nudes so he could divert the pressure from his playing. "Just don't push yourself too hard, okay? The journalists like you at the moment, and they'll be hyping you up a lot because they're so excited about you, which means you might feel disappointed if you fall short of any expectations- but remember that you're nineteen, and have the world at your feet. Don't think too much about what they say. Don't think about what fans might say either, they can be ruthless too. Focus on yourself."

"Wow! Wisdom from one of the heroes of the deutsche Nationalmannschaft!" Kai said delightedly. "For real, I need to start taking some notes. You guys know everything."

"Mario is right, Kai," Fips said. He had been fuming about something he had seen on his phone, but now he had stepped in with a captainly expression on his face. "Let me give you some advice about the media..."

He started recounting his experience of  _his_ first press conference to an admiring Kai. While he did this, Mario fell back to walk with Jonas. The left-back was looking incredibly nervous, constantly fidgeting with his glasses, putting his hands in his pockets and then removing them, his cheeks were dusted with pink. 

"Christ bullied you into doing a conference too?" Mario said gently, putting an arm around Jonas to calm him down a little. 

Jonas nodded. "I couldn't say no to him... But I don't get why he wanted me in the first place, I have nothing to say that's worth hearing!"

"Shut up, Flachwichser," Mario said, rolling his eyes. "Everyone loves you. Every one of your words is gold dust to them at the moment. It's me who should be worrying, they want my blood." 

"But you're actually a talented player, you're just going through a tough time. I had a fluke match and now they're going to be expecting more from me," Jonas said, staring at the ground.

"Come on, Jonas! Don't bullshit me here," Mario said, squeezing Jonas' shoulder. "It was no fluke. You got past van Dijk and de Ligt as if they weren't there, you stopped Arjen and de Jong like they were nothing. You're insanely talented, and you know it. People are recognising it now. Don't put yourself down."

_God, you just don't get it. I play well for ninety minutes, I have the time of my life, I feel euphoric, and when I step off the pitch all I get as a reward is more expectations. I hate having expectations, I hate feeling like people want something else from me. Ever since we got relegated people have been expecting me to be nothing less than flawless, otherwise they'll want me off the national squad for not being in the top flight. I can't even play well anymore without getting more of this tormenting pressure, they'll just want more of it all the time! Sometimes I just want to play football for the fun of it! I'm fucking sick of it all. I'm sick of it! My head hurts so much!_

"Thank you, Mario..."

When they reached the conference room, he felt more nervous under the eyes of the twenty or so men and women with laptops and phone cameras than he ever did during a game. There was a good deal of mumbling, last minute equipment checks and last-minute makeup dabbing as they waited. Jonas felt as though he was about to get guillotined, looking more anxious than even Kai. The boy, having been calmed by his captain's words, was vibrating as he usually did, but with his normal hyperactivity rather than any feelings of self-doubt. After the players did their press conference, Jogi, Hansi Flick and Andreas Köpke would go up to do theirs.

Finally, it was time for them to walk up to the seats, murmur some words of greeting to the assembled DFB staff and sit down. Mario gave Jonas a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and Jonas smiled at him, hating himself all the same. Kai surveyed the crowd of journalists rather like he surveyed his opponents on the pitch, silently analysing them without them even realising it. Fips just looked deadpan. Inwardly he was thinking more about the hula-hooping videos Basti had posted on  _bayern won the bundesliga_ more than the press conference- he had done these things too much over his life, after all, he didn't care at all about them anymore.

Jonas stared into space as there were a few coughs, people waiting for everything to get started. He fidgeted with one of his rings, twisting it against his finger, as finally things kicked off and there were some cursory introductions. Cameras were flashing.

_Why do I feel safer on the pitch than where I am right now?_

Things kicked off with a question to Fips, the captain. 

"Herr Lahm, wie beurteilen Sie den Fortschritt der Nationalmannschaft in den letzten Monaten? Glauben Sie dass, es ein perfekter Start in den Kalendar war?"

Fips began rattling off the standard response to the mandatory enquiry about the captain's thoughts of the team's progress.

"Obviously we must be proud, especially because our group in the Nations League is incredibly well-balanced and there is no easy fixture. The team have won all three international fixtures so far by impressive margins and we hope to continue doing so. However, we aren't about to get cocky, we must always play with maximum effort and concentration..."

He finished off by talking about how the Nations League was a good test for the team, a competitive environment whilst not having too much at stake, allowing players to get their heads into shape for the bigger tournaments, like the Euros and the World Cup. He also talked a little about his thoughts on the seeding for qualifiers. Naturally that was the next question that came- opinions on Euros qualifiers overall?

Kai's knee was bopping up and down. The boy's face, however, was unfathomable. Almost perfectly mask-like. Jonas couldn't quite believe how calm he looked, usually he looked in a state of permanent awe. 

Fips finished answering the second question, which was about his expectations for the Europameisterschaft qualifiers- really, what did journalists expect him to say, that he was sure his team was going to lose versus Northern Ireland and Belarus and go unqualified? When he ended his little speech, he almost wanted to say,  _what I do know is, we'll probably qualify while Italy and the Netherlands don't. THE LITTLE BITCHES!_

He felt guilty for thinking it. Thomas and Marco had gotten into his head far too much. But then again he didn't feel guilty at all. The spaghetti men and the orange peels  _were_ little bitches.

There were some other dry questions- thoughts on the Netherlands and France's squad selections, the relative difficulty of upcoming matches, the team's morale, etcetera etcetera. As Fips said a few polite words about the quality of the French and the Dutch players, he thought in his head,  _clearly they're not that great, though, we beat them 3-0 and 4-1._ When he talked about the difficulty of upcoming matches with poise and humility, he was really thinking,  _it really might be more difficult, we might only win by 2-0 this time._ When he talked about the team's morale, he thought,  _if only you all could get to know Marco Reus. Then you'd see what our morale is like._

He wasn't really arrogant. He just got pleasure out of thinking in the way the media would hate him to think. It was a coping mechanism. He spent enough time trying to indulge them, sometimes it was fun to go the other way. In his head though. He didn't want his PR agent to die.

The next question was addressed at Mario. Mario had channelled many lectures about his posture from his agent and was sitting in his seat with his back straight, his head slightly raised and his gaze level as it swept across the conference room. He listened to the question, spoken by a squat middle-aged man who _definitely_ looked like he had plenty of experience on the pitch. 

"Herr Gomez, your inclusion on the squad has raised many eyebrows across Germany. What do you think about criticisms levelled at you in recent weeks, do you think they are valid? Your scoring in the Bundesliga has been more sparse than one might expect for an international striker. What do you think you can achieve in a Germany shirt?"

There it was. Start off with the easy questions, the bread-and-butter of journalism questions, about team expectations, general , then  _bam!_ They zoomed in on some sort of controversy. Mario squinted at the reporter who had just posed the question and almost smiled a little. It was a  _Bild_ correspondent. Naturally.

"Well," Mario said quietly. "My club has been struggling recently, that's for sure, and it is more difficult to score goals when the ball remains in your side of the pitch for most of the game. In a situation like Stuttgart's, sometimes players have to give up their ideas of individual success and work with the team to try and prevent bigger problems. That makes the glory expected of an 'international striker' hard to come by. I don't think it affects my form in a Germany shirt, these are totally different situations. In Germany there is a magnificent defence, in the form of our centrebacks, Philipp, and Jonas-"

He gave a little jerk of the head towards Fips, who nodded back, and towards Jonas, who gave him an encouraging little smile.

"And we have a wonderful midfield also. We have a whole team, who works together, who help each other on the pitch to work forwards. This means I can fulfil my role of a striker and have more opportunities to score. I believe I have been working hard in training and have good synchrony with the team. We are in a good position and are in good spirits. Circumstance can also be very important to a player, the atmosphere around him can lend to how well he plays."

He watched journalists scribbling wildly.  _Mario Gomez calls Stuttgart shit._

"But Herr Gomez, do you not think a talented player performs well even in poor situations? A professional works as hard as possible no matter what the circumstances."

Fips' jaw tightened, Jonas gave his head a little involuntary shake and Kai gave Mario a sideways glance. Mario smiled a little.

"As I said, different circumstances lend to different styles of play. What would you classify as a 'good performance'? Is it scoring goals, is it helping with the defence when your team is on the worst end of a scoreline, is it initiating key passes and assists left and right? You must look at the bigger picture. I work as hard as I can to make the most of the situation I am in. In Germany there is a different situation, which will lead to a different performance from me. In both scenarios I try my best, but I am not a miracle worker. Football is a team sport."

"Yet would you not say there have been certain games for Germany where there have been expectations on you that you did not fulfil? Games where you received enough service and failed to capitalise off of it?"

Mario looked at the speaker in disbelief. Fips looked pretty annoyed. 

"I'm not sure I recall which games you are talking about," he said evenly. "I scored in the first game versus France, and I didn't play against the Netherlands, so there has not been much opportunity for me to fall short of expectations. Unless you're referring to games in the past? Then I would ask you, if footballers' capabilities were based solely off their past form, would anyone be able to move forwards and improve? I don't think so. There are people still holding missed chances against Austria in the 2008 Euros against my head. Sometimes you just have to wonder whether people in the sports world value progression at all. They just want instant results."

It was getting heated. Mario was aware he should be controlling himself, he was letting his anger rise too much, but he was so sick of this. He took a long drink of his water. The Bild correspondent nodded as though defeated, but Mario knew a withering report was incoming for him. "Danke, Herr Gomez."

_Thank you for your bullshit, Mr Bild._

"Do you think you deserved the cut over Timo Werner, who has been putting in good performances for RB Leipzig?" another journalist's question came in. Of course, Mario had gotten the ball rolling, he had done this to himself.

"Timo has been performing well, yes.  But these situations are not so simple as to say,  _he scored with Leipzig, he can score with Germany._ While undoubtedly being a magnificent prospect, he's very young and hasn't had much experience with the senior national team. I have had international experience, so I imagine that is what tilted the coach's judgement in my favour. But this is all speculation, the coach is the one who makes the decisions and not me and he will have his own justification for his choices. They have not been detrimental to us so far, so I see no issue."

"Do you think the coach factored in recent league performances from both of you into his decision?" 

 _What a fucking idiotic question._ "I can't see a possible reason why he wouldn't."

"Do you not think, then, that Werner's form should have merited him a chance with the national team?" This journalist was persistent. "Experience or not, form is something that cannot be argued against. Out of both of you, do you think that your performances have shown as much promise as his?"

 _God almighty._ "I would like to reiterate what I said before. I have not played yet this international break. In the first break, my club situation was the same, I wasn't putting up the numbers in Stuttgart, but in München for that game against France I did. Until I play another match, it is impossible to make a judgement about whether I deserved this call-up or not, and it is equally as impossible to judge whether Timo would have been a better choice than me. I am still behind Miroslav Klose, who is faultless- perhaps it might be that I don't even get playing time this break. The team is still winning either way. Danke."

"Danke, Herr Gomez."

Mario was trying so hard to restrain his fury. He was sure his agent would have a nice large stack of press cuttings to show him tomorrow morning. It was so unfair! The team had won 3-0, 3-0, 4-1, and the journalists were still after him! He had scored! Why were they so insistent about this? Why were they so against him trying to be better? Jonas' hand rested on Mario's knee- he was staring ahead, but Mario could feel the reassurance in his touch.

The next question was for Kai. Kai had just watched Mario fend off multiple difficult questions and he was now feeling a great deal of trepidation. 

The question wasn't flammatory, it was flattering. "Herr Havertz, many congratulations for your first cap in senior German football, and what a start you've had, with an assist in your first match. You are showing a great deal of talent and are proving yourself against big sides every week in the Bundesliga- getting experience, proving to be an invaluable asset to Bayer Leverkusen, and not being simply a youth player, but an established starter in a big German club. In your international debut, you have already proven yourself. So, my question to you is, where do you see yourself in the future of the national team? Do you believe you have a shot, at nineteen years old, to make it regularly into the starting lineup?"

Kai listened to the question, to the bucketloads of praise, and saw only a challenge behind the journalist's words. Jonas gave Kai an encouraging look.

"I would say that it is impossible," Kai said in his shockingly deep voice. "As... as a nineteen year old, amongst experienced internationals and World Cup winners, in a squad that's produced some of the finest midfielders in the game- Mesut Özil and Toni Kroos, and other young talents like... Leon Goretzka, for example, I don't believe I have more of a claim to a starting spot than them. Özil is far more experienced and far more gifted than me. It's too early to say, all I can hope is that I take my bearings from all these incredible players around me and improve my own game until I can truly say I'm on par with them. For now, I'll enjoy even being on the bench. Stepping on the team bus is as surreal to me as scoring, there is still a ways to go before I become established in this squad."

There was a murmur of laughter from the journalists. Fips smiled proudly at Kai. What a mature response! There was no tinge of nervousness to the boy's voice at all, and the humility was bound to make the press fall in love with him.

There were some other questions for Kai- namely about what role within the team he thought he would play in the future, would he be a traditional playmaker, would he be the replacement for Mesut, how would he use his versatility- he had begun to be addressed as the Alleskönner, after all.

"I'll play wherever the coach decides to put me, and try the best I can in any position to aid the team. I won't be taking over anyone established anytime soon, but I work well as an attacking midfielder, I can also work well as a central midfielder and right midfielder. Again, it's too early to see the bigger picture for me, I have to build myself up. I am ambitious, no doubt about it, but also I don't want to get too ahead of myself."

Nobody in the team would be watching the press-conference, namely because they thought press-conferences were shit and boring- and usually, they were right in that assertion. But it was a pity nobody but Miro, Julian and Toni were watching this time, because the team would all have been shocked to see how level-headed Kai was behaving. Jogi and his coaching staff were in silent raptures- this kid! He was perfect!

It was Jonas' turn now. Mario watched Kai instantly get the approval of the journalists and tried to remind himself that he shouldn't get jealous of a kid. He turned to Jonas. If the journalists were unfair to him, he really thought he would snap.

The first question was almost predictable. "Herr Hector, you have been excellent recently, practically winning the game against the Netherlands by yourself. But did you expect such events to take place, especially given your recent situation- your suspension in the 2.Bundesliga along with a string of bad results with FC Köln?"

Mario was the one who gave Jonas a reassuring pat this time. Jonas took a deep breath.

"Naturally the game against Netherlands was an unexpected occurrence," he said softly. "Did I consider myself to be of the quality required of the National Team when I got called up at the beginning of this break? No, I didn't. But- but I would say Herr Löw used the same logic with me as he did with Mario. He recognised that different situations inspire different performances. My- my situation with Köln has been difficult, but with Germany it's been much better. Like Mario said, I try to work my hardest in whatever position I'm in. It works- it works out differently depending on what the situation is."

Mario gave him a grateful smile for backing him up. Jonas couldn't return it. He was feeling shaky.

"With their being sparse options for left-backs in the German squad, there isn't much pressure for your position, so it must relieve some weight on your shoulders and allow you to blossom," the journalist said. "But you demonstrate an incredible talent anyway. Your career path has been very unconventional. Do you think you'll be able to keep aiding and assisting Germany to glory, no matter what 'situation' you're in?"

Mario had to grin bitterly. The double standards were really reaching new heights. 

"I c-can't say, really. That is of course what I  _want_ to do." Jonas was twisting his ring compulsively again. "But I don't... I don't think that my contribution to the team matches that of the others. L-Like you said, there are sparse options for left-backs in the squad so I really am the only option as of yet, but Thilo Kehrer is also an upcoming international, Marvin Plattenhard as well... And other players... My spot on the team might be contested, especially because I play in the 2.Bundesliga. So, nobody is ever fully safe, so I can't say anything about- about how much I can aid Germany to 'glory'. But I want to try as hard as I can."

He couldn't help but feel the journalists were disappointed in this response. His heart was racing, but he tried to make eye-contact regardless. 

"You sell yourself short, Herr Hector," the next journalist up said with a friendly laugh. "You're working hard and performing well. The fact you're here right now is testament to that."

Jonas blinked, and then he rubbed the back of his neck, flushing. "Vielen danke, sir."

"My question to you is, do you think the lack of stability will push you harder? Do you believe in the method of applying pressure and taking pressure for breeding success? Do you think that your show versus the Netherlands, and the subsequent response you've received to it, will motivate you to all the way for your desires? Do you think you can go all the way?"

Jonas looked at him fully. Was he really asking that question? Applying pressure and taking pressure was the bane of Jonas' life. He couldn't apply pressure off the pitch because he was an anxious loser and pussy. He couldn't take pressure because it made him feel terrible about himself and made him feel like he had to bend over backwards to fulfil the expectations of others. 

"Toi, toi, toi," was all he could think to say in response. Then his face flared with heat. God, that was such a stupid, non-answer, he was so useless, he needed to _expand_ and give good reasons, obviously-

Everyone laughed appreciatively.

***

_Private chat between Miroslav Klose and Mario Gomez_

**Miro:** I. SAw your conference

 **Miro:** Very unfair questioons

 **Miro:** But you answered well. Put up a confident impression. Nice to see!!!

 **Miro:** I hope ypou are responsive to statemenets like that at the moment!!

 **Miro:** But seriously

 **Miro:** We love and value you Mario

 **Miro:** I love you and value you. So much. They were wrong about you.

 **Miro:** PRove the media wrong in the next game!

 **Miro:** IN the words of Jonas. Toi toi toi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love steno tea. i am well aware u all HATE me for it but steno is such an illogical ship in this fic lmao it needs to be a lil more complex then enemies to lovers so TEA TEA TEAA. i literally don't understand myself i wrote myself into such an emotional corner but at least it gives me plenty of opportunity for drama
> 
> i just wanted to go a bit into jonas once more,,, also it has been 20 chaps since i introduced kai and i lov thtat boy so much its dangerus
> 
> i hate the media. mario gomez gets eviscerated its so unfair :( im sure press conferences arent THAT heated tho i barely watch them theyre boring
> 
> hope you enjoyed???
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QjfIoIZWc9Q this is something completely irrelevant talking about player traditions but his toi, toi, toi is so cute


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 19!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning- a screaming rant down here- this chapter is going to be messy and disorganised-
> 
> so i'm literally crying. in tears. thomas, mats and jerome have been kicked out of the NT.
> 
> i don't give a fuck, i am so furious at löw and now i am joining my fellow germans and saying- OUT! OUT OUT OUT! GET HIM OUT! the news has hit me like an actual punch to the stomach and i don't think i can bear it, i can't understand it at all. why???? i don't understand it! it's the most unceremonious and fucking ridiculous thing i've seen, not even a dignified resignation, i'm seriously so furious. WHY THEM THREE????? WHY???? thomas had a bad world cup BUT THEN AGAIN YOU COULD FUCKING SAY THE WHOLE FUCKING TEAM HAD A BAD WORLD CUP! BECAUSE THE TACTICS WERE FUCKING TRASH! he's looking so much better for club this season! mats is looking fine for club, jerome has actually gotten better again! what a fucking brutal and disgraceful way to throw out three legends! i am in total denial and i can't take it, thomas, my hero, germany's hero, the one who was meant to break miro's record, jerome, the best CB in the world only a couple of years back, mats, such a stalwart on the team... how can he have done this?? HOW? 
> 
> i don't care if this is overdramatic my heart is broken into pieces. i don't care if they want to rebuild, i don't fucking care, they can't do it like this. THEY ARE NOT PLAYING BADLY AT THE MOMENT, HOW CAN YOU DO THIS TO THREE LEGENDS?! DID SPAIN KICK OUT INIESTA AFTER THE WORLD CUP 2014? LOOK AT THIAGO SILVA AND CANNAVARO! THIS IS FUCKING RIDICULOUS, IT IS ABSOLUTELY FUCKING SHAMEFUL AND DISGRACEFUL THAT THEY'RE BOOTING HIM OFF THE SQUAD, HE'S STILL ONE OF THE BEST GERMAN PLAYERS ON THE PLANET! IT'S DISGRACEFUL! EVEN IF THEY DON'T START ANYMORE THEY'VE GOT TO AT LEAST BE ON THE BENCH, IT'S ABSOLUTELY CRAZY AND RIDICULOUS AND INSANE THAT YOU'RE AXING THEM FROM THE SQUAD ALL TOGETHER!! WITHOUT HUMMELS AND BOATENG YOU THERE WILL BE NO BALL-PLAYING CB LEFT! SÜLE AND RÜDIGER CB PARTNERSHIP WOULD HAVE SÜLE PLAYING THE BALL, WHICH IS ABSOLUTELY L A U G H A B L E! 
> 
> MÜLLER HAS EXPERIENCE THAT NONE OF THESE OTHER PLAYERS HAVE! HE IS A CALMING PRESENCE AND ONE OF THE MOST INTELLIGENT FOOTBALLERS ON THE PLANET, AND REMEMBER HE IS 29 YEARS OLD! HE HAS ANOTHER 7 YEARS IN HIM! 
> 
> i'll repeat some choice words- shameful, disgraceful and disgusting. there are going to be hard times ahead for the german national team. i am so fucking furious by this that i'm not going to see any of the international games coming up, i don't give a fuck how petty it sounds this is an unacceptable way to treat them. schweinsteiger, podolski, lahm, they got their chance to retire with dignity and grace, like these three german legends and some of the best in the game deserve too, this is fucking appalling and i wouldn't even be surprised if they refuse to play a testimonial match with how disrespectful the actions of the DFB have been for this. 
> 
> can i reiterate something again?? if the reason this fucking buffoon is dropping these three is because of 'performances at the world cup', then i'm sorry, but EVERYONE ON THAT GODDAMN TEAM should be dropped forever. barring reus and kroos, everyone was fucking awful. BECAUSE LOW'S TACTICS WERE AWFUL. was it hummels who played goretzka on the wing in what was essentially a knockout game? was it boateng who played a tired sami khedira? was it thomas who rested reus against an inform mexico? all lingering support I had for Low after the WC is now filled with hatred at how he is willing to just throw decorated and important players into the bin as if they were mere trash!!! he will lose the support of all veteran players after this and the locker room as well. this will definitely impact the mentality of the players and will probably ruin them for bayern too. this is a slap in the face to german football.
> 
> apparently manu's job is in danger too- if the same happens to him, i swear to god, i'm going to boycott every single qualifying game. i won't even watch them on TV. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE!
> 
> the only lingering hope i can have from this is that low will get the sack and the new coach calls them back. though they'd probably give him a middle finger to the fucking face, and i don't blame them. the whole dfb is in disgrace for this. 
> 
> it's michael ballack all over again. 
> 
> don't enjoy the chapter. feel my blistering anger. i want to rewrite this whole thing fucking hell we don't need humour right now. this chapter was written before i heard the news so like... explains a bit of tonal difference.

_Morning, Mario, attached are all the current press-cuttings. As expected, not too flattering. Bild had a field day, although there were actually a few papers inclined to give you a fair report. Regardless, I was very pleased to see how you conducted yourself during that very demanding conference- you seemed assured without being audacious, and firm without being impertinent. Nice to see! There's no doubt at all about your status/abilities- spoke briefly to Löw on the phone about Leno/you and he suggested training has been going Kebab. Keep at it- get yourself a start for the France match!!!! Bis später- Uli._

Mario looked at the multiple articles sent by his agent and decided that, for the sake of his emotional health, they would have to go unread for now. He sat against the bathroom door with his head tipped backwards, trying to control his emotions. He had known the international break wasn't going to be easy all along, but he had never expected there to be such a major onslaught against him. They really were out for his blood.

He wasn't sure how long he had been holed up in the bathroom for- all he knew was that Miro was probably going to wake up and realise he wasn't in his bed soon. Mario had made a bee-line for his hiding spot from the moment he had opened his eyes, but he knew the force of Miro's concern was going to hit him eventually. Last night, when he had returned from the press-conference, he and the better striker had talked for hours- Miro reassuring Mario, expressing pride and support, analysing Mario's game without any sentimentality so Mario could recognise his own ability. It had been nice, listening to Miro's endless advice, knowing that the other man had been through similar sorts of issues to him, but Mario had identified one major difference between the two of them that simply could not be ignored.

Everybody loved Miro. Nobody loved Mario.

Miro had proven himself for over a decade, Mario decidedly had not. Four World Cup medals and one trophy, whilst Mario had... two failed European championships? At club level Mario had been far more successful, he had the treble and multiple other Bundesliga titles to his name, including that beautiful 2007 season with Stuttgart, but ever since he had left Bayern his career had just gone into freefall and he had constantly given the general public more reasons to hate him. From Fiorentina, where everybody had assumed he was on holiday because of his injury, to the Turkish League, which was just viewed as a collecting point for all players who had had a blip in their careers, to Wolfsburg, with that dire last half-season, and of course, the crown jewel, his  _jubilant_ return to Stuttgart... 

Maybe it was time to let go.

The knock that sounded against the door just as Mario let his body evaporate managed to suddenly resurrect his shrivelled husk of a body. A sleepy voice called out, "Mario? Are you in there?"

Mario hit his head in his haste to sit upright and practically squawked, "Ja! Ein Moment!"

Christ Alive. Even his voice was betraying him. It always went absurdly high-pitched when he was startled. Mario shook his head to get rid of the spiral of thoughts he had let his mind devolve into during his time on the bathroom floor and jumped to his feet. After obsessively checking his hair in the mirror for a minute, then remembering it was literally only Miro out there, Mario hurried to open the bathroom door. Miro was scrubbing a hand through his hair, yawning- he was shirtless, inexplicably reminding Mario of how fucking in-shape he still was for a thirty six year old man. Why the hell was his brain registering this now? He had seen Miro's body before, for fuck's sake.

"Morning!" Mario chirped, and his voice cracked. He gave up. "Bye. I'm gone leavin'. Stop laughing at me. I'm going to jump off that balcony now, you don't want your last interaction with me to be you  _mocking_ me, do you?"

"I'm sorry!" Miro laughed, grabbing Mario's hand as the man made to dramatically storm towards the balcony. "It's early morning, I don't have my impeccable sense of self-control right now. Cut me some slack, will you, Mar?" 

"You get too much of it," Mario said threateningly. "But I'll let you off this once. I'd laugh at  _you_ if you had an embarrassing voice-crack at any time of the day, so everything is fair, I guess."

"Indeed." Miro still wasn't letting go of Mario's hand- instead, he took the other one. 

His hands were so warm against Mario's cold skin. 

"It's early morning," Miro repeated, but his voice was more serious this time. "Why are you up at this time?"

"Me? Early?" Mario said breathlessly. "I didn't even realise it was that early. My body clock, is like, so out of whack. There's a little ticker in there that suddenly makes me wake in cold fear at random moments, expecting Fips to yell at me."

He couldn't meet Miro's eyes.

"Are you okay?" Miro said quietly. 

Mario nodded jerkily. "Yeah! Yeah, I'm great! Sailing? Or is it soaring? I don't know, one of those things. I'm... positive!"

Miro's eyes were fucking penetrating. "Are you  _sure?_ "

"I've never been more sure of anything. The only time I've ever been more sure of myself is when I've been sure I've fucked something up."

He bared his teeth in a grin. Miro stared at him for a while.

And then he squeezed Mario's hands, thoroughly making the other man's head spin. Was Mario having a hallucination? This question was answered when Miro suddenly let go of Mario's hands and wrapped his arms around Mario's shoulders, drawing the man in for a hug.

There was no way  _this_ could be a hallucination. Miro's body was so warm and so solid. Mario found that he suddenly had to blink very hard, staring at the carpet behind Miro.

"Mario, my Mario," Miro whispered, showing no signs of letting Miro go. Mario closed his eyes. "Why do you feel the need to hide from me, hm?"

Mario opened his eyes in surprise. And then he swallowed hard. "Hiding? I'm not hiding..." 

Miro sighed, holding him closer. "That's what you say."

"Miro..."

_It was early morning, and Mario's mind was in freefall._

"Sometimes I wonder if it's something I've done," Miro murmured. "Something that makes you think you can't talk to me."

 _Bam!_ It was as if someone had physically hit Mario in the chest. His eyes blew wide and Miro felt his whole body tense.

"Miro, I-" He couldn't think of what to say. His mouth wasn't working. Miro said nothing, and Mario could sense he was expecting Mario to say,  _no, it isn't you, you haven't done anything._

Mario couldn't say it.

"Don't worry," Miro whispered, after a little while of silence. "I know it's just a silly worry of mine. You feel like you have to shoulder the burden alone a lot, and it makes me sad. I thought that way for a long time myself, after I... after I lost someone.  I was always the one that was confided to, I never confided in anyone else. But I learned to have faith in others. It can get so lonely, being the lone man up front, until you remember that the others are there with you. You know that, right? You understand that we're here for you?"

Mario didn't know how to react. Luckily he didn't need to, because Miro was still hugging him and couldn't see his face.

Finally Miro let go, giving Mario a brief kiss on the forehead. "Oh, my, Mario, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to suddenly bombard you so early in the morning. I just get so worried about you sometimes. You deal with so much from the media, you say so many negative things about yourself and you never seem to realise how much love you deserve. I just wanted to remind you of it. That, and the fact you can say literally anything you ever want to me. Please don't feel like you have to hide. I'll always be here."

Mario still couldn't comprehensively think. He stayed silent. Miro smiled sadly.

"I'm going to brush my teeth," he said, patting Mario's shoulder gently. He disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Mario stock-still. 

The spot where Miro had kissed him was burning.

***

It was another one of those nights for Jonas. Endless tossing and turning had led him to receiving exactly two hours of sleep, during that time he had fallen into a brief yet troubling dream about Mario Gomez. He had dreamed of the man telling him that he had been blackmailed into retiring from football and joining _Bild_ \- apparently, the newspaper had seized his nudes and were threatening to leak them if he didn't leave the team immediately. 

He had woken up just as dream Mario had pulled his phone out to show Jonas said pictures. For a moment he felt a sense of pure relief, and then that relief was replaced by utter bewilderment.  _What the hell?_

"Morning," Toni said, yawning. He was lying across his bed, tapping something into his phone, evidently not in any mood to get up and do anything productive. "Sleep well?"

"The last thing I remember seeing was it being 7 AM," Jonas groaned, still disoriented. "So you tell me."

"You didn't sleep well. It's 9 AM now," Toni said. "What's up with you? How come you didn't sleep? Were you feeling anxious again?"

"Considering my general personality, I would say so, yes," Jonas said shortly, without really thinking. He winced, clutching his head. "I'm sorry... I just have a headache again and I feel like I have no moisture in my eyes."

"That bodes well for training, where Jogi is expecting us to be in peak physical form," Toni said with a smile, ignoring the apology. "Was it the press conference that freaked you out? Because... well, I was watching that shit. And I thought you were great. You seemed nervous, obviously, but you gave pretty confident answers. "

Jonas removed his hand from his head and stared uncomprehendingly at Toni, so confused he forgot to dispel the praise given to him. "You... watched the press conference? You told me once that you would sooner watch a compilation of Marc-Andre's greatest saves than willingly watch someone else's press conference."

"Yeah, well, Jeri was talking to Lewandowski, Marco, Benni and Mats were fighting again, Thomas was with Manu and Mario's idea of conversation was showing me 'tea threads' about all my Real Madrid teammates' biggest shames. My options for entertainment were thin on the ground," Toni grumbled, his cheeks going red. "Anyway, don't change the subject, Hector, this isn't about me, it's about you.  If I say you were great you were great, shut up!"

"Sorry, thank you." Jonas wasn't looking at him. "I was boring and I didn't say anything worth hearing but thank you anyway. That's so nice of you."

_Keep fucking lying to make me feel better. I see through it all._

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Toni said gruffly. Then he snorted as an enormous yawn forced its way out of Jonas. "Hurry up and get ready, will you? We should go down to breakfast, maybe you can wake yourself up a little during the jog. And get some food in you.

Jonas got out of bed, rubbing his aching eyes. Toni watched him go with his cheeks flushed. 

When they arrived at the breakfast table an hour or so later, Toni looked out for Jerome to sit next to. Although he liked rooming with Jonas, he also missed sharing a room with his best friend a lot. He had been expecting his friend to hit him with the usual amount of over-affectionate behaviour and a strangling hug upon seeing him, but instead he was greeted with the sight of a sobbing central defender, who was being 'comforted' by Mats.

"Jerome?" Jonas said, his face contorted with worry as he sat in front of Jerome, while Toni sat next to him, one hand on his shoulder. "What's the matter?"

"He's pining again," Mats informed the two of them. "This is your department, Kroos, not mine. I've already looked through every photo from his '2015 first-year anniversary' Google Drive file, I do not think I have literally _ever_ expended this much effort pretending to care about someone else's relationship. I'm out."

"I can hear you, you know!" Jerome wailed. "Rob and I are the cutest couple out there and all of you should be invested in our relationship, not being  _disparaging_ about it!"

"I've listened to both of your bullshit since day one! I was with Robert when he thought you were hot at Dortmund, you know! I'm  _too_ invested in your relationship!"

"I'm here, Jeri, don't fret," Toni said sympathetically. "You're relieved, Hummels, don't worry, I can take over from here." 

He opened his arms and Jerome fell into them, weeping hopelessly. Mats gave Jerome a friendly slap upside the head and turned to start a conversation with Mario. Everyone had been given shifts to take care of the centre-back, as directed by Fips- Basti and Lukas had been mysteriously left off of the roster by the captain, for some reason. Which was strange, they knew a lot about long-distance problems.

"Did you eat anything?" Toni asked his friend.

"I had toast. But it tasted terrible. Because Rob isn't here!"

"Surely the taste of toast would remain the same whether Robert was here or not," Mesut said reasonably.

"Shut the hell  _up,_ Mesut!" Jerome yelled at him. "You're a love-clueless piece of shit and you don't know  _anything_ about how things taste to me when Robert isn't here!"

"... What?"

Sami rolled his eyes. "Did you forget who we're dealing with here, Mesut? This is  _pining_ Jeri, not  _normal_ Jeri. He doesn't make sense. Lewandowski is worse than him, I've heard their late-night conversations."

"Robert isn't worse than anyone, Robert is the best, _you're_ worse than me!" Jerome said, thrusting an accusing finger at Sami, who took a sip of tea. Toni gave Sami an annoyed look that basically said  _shut the hell up_  and took over the situation.

"You talked to Robert last night, didn't you?" he said soothingly. "You shouldn't be so sad, you'll talk to him today too and you'll see him in a few days anyway! It'll all be okay, Jeri."

"I  _have_ to be sad, Toni, you don't get it. Robbi is in such a bad way at the moment and I hate knowing he's so sad and self-reproachful while I'm not there to remind him in person how beautiful and amazing and lovely and funny he is," Jerome sobbed. "He  _needs_ me to tell him it, because otherwise he thinks all these wrong things about himself and he gets sad and I can't be happy when he's not!"

Everyone around them exchanged uncomfortable looks.

"You'll be with him soon to remind him of it every day," Toni said quietly. "Knowing you, you'll probably throw a 'Robert Lewandowski Appreciation Party' and force everyone in the squad to come and each say what we love most about him. Just don't invite Reus and it'll be a blast. He'll be fine, Jeri, don't worry about him. He's got you, hasn't he?"

Jerome dissolved into even deeper tears. "Toni!"

"Come on, let's go and watch a compilation of his best Bundesliga goals, they always cheer you up," Toni said reassuringly. "Then put on a hell of a performance in training so you make him proud in your next match."

"Empathy and tact alert, empathy and tact alert, I repeat, Toni is showing emotions other than bitterness," Mesut muttered to Sami, as Jerome put his head against Toni's shoulder to watch the video. "Jerome really brings that side out of people, doesn't he?"

"He and Lewandowski are the most overemotional people I've ever met," Sami murmured in agreement. "Jerome can cry about anything. He cried over the Fresh Prince of Bel Air when he came to Turin this one time. That episode where Will says sorry to the family about Carlton and the speed? He was weeping like he'd just lost a loved one. "

"Okay, but that was actually sad as fuck. Will Smith is such an actor that you develop a bond to his goofiness, and when he breaks from that, you feel like a part of you has broken as well."

Sami gave Mesut a weird look. "Whatever you say, man."

"Come on, do you not agree?" Mesut asked, looking appalled. "Does Will Smith...  _not_ make you feel emotional?"

"I mean, sure, maybe I'll feel a little sad if it's a sad episode, but I don't  _cry_ about TV shows. Because, y'know... They're not real." 

"Your mother isn't real," Mesut gasped. "What about the episode with Will and his dad? Did you not cry over that?" 

"Again... It wasn't real... So no..."

"You absolute fool. You uncultured swine. I can't be friends with you. Go away. Bye." Mesut pushed Sami bodily out of his seat, just as Jogi entered the breakfast room.

"Morning, morning, morning," the coach began, and then he looked at Sami on the floor and Jerome crying and Julian quoting Kai's press conference while standing on a chair.  Sami and Jerome paid their coach no heed, and Jogi in turn decided not to ask. But Julian wasn't so lucky. Just as he was about to jump hastily off of his chair, the other Julian, still seething over their Uno fight, pulled it out beneath him and he fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs with a theatrical yelp.

Kai was the only one who bothered to check if he was okay- everyone else was roaring with laughter. Bernd was smacking the table and crying, Marc-Andre and Leroy were relieved that for once they weren't at the end of the mockery and Jogi was beside himself, condemning Julian Draxler to three extra laps.

"So now that Reus isn't here, you decide to fill in for him?" he bellowed. "Just what we need days before a very important game! I'm glad that my squad is thinking ahead, that they're this focused! Get your ass back in your chair this instant, Draxler, if I hear another  _breath_ out of you it'll be five laps!"

Julian nodded solemnly and sat back down, whilst accepting high-fives under the table. Extra laps were a small price to pay for seeing Brandt's humiliation.

"Do you want me to nutmeg him in training, Jule?" Kai whispered to the other Julian, helping him back into his chair.

"I can do it myself!" Julian said crossly. Then he leaned across the table to bitch-slap Bernd, who was still sobbing with mirth.

Now the two Julians would be running together. Fips watched Brandt condemn himself needlessly in pure amazement. Nobody had the slightest semblance of self-control on this squad, did they? 

"Right!" Jogi said, as Draxler won twice in the same minute. "This really was the ideal start to the training day, wasn't it? Though I don't know what I exp-"

He was interrupted by the late arrival of Thomas into the room. Fips braced himself for the inevitable comment that made Jogi blow his top, but it never came. Jogi didn't even acknowledge Thomas.

"Alright, Mülli? Where's Manu?" Basti asked gently.

"He's got the flu," Thomas said quite calmly, and he said no more. His gaze flickered to Miro, who gave him a little nod, and then he noticed that Benni was staring at him. But when he made to make eye contact, Benni looked away.

"As I was saying," Jogi said. "Today's training day is very important, we're only a few days away from the France match. Unfortunately, we've been hit with some absences. Reus is currently with the physiotherapist looking over some lingering knee problems, and it's uncertain as to whether he'll be fit for the next match. We're hoping for a good report."

Everyone shared the sentiment. Everything was a little more exciting when Marco was around, and he also deserved to play.

"We also have another big absence with Neuer," Jogi said, looking towards his two substitute keepers. "He's ill at the moment, and we don't know when he'll be back. Which means both keepers have to be at the ready."

This was news. Marc-Andre looked uncertainly at Bernd, but Bernd wasn't meeting his eyes. Mario, who had looked down as Jogi talked about Marco, glanced at the two of them. Things were going to get tense.

"Neither of these losses are an excuse not to perform to our very best. I expect a high standard from today's training, and a maximum level of effort. Let's go out and start our laps." 

Everyone exploded into chattering as chairs shifted backwards and people got ready to head out into training. Jonas, who had been silent all throughout Toni's reassurance of Jerome because he didn't want to interfere, gave Jerome a tentative pat on the shoulder, and was startled when Jerome flung his arms around him in a hug. 

 _He's_ very  _physically affectionate,_ Toni mouthed, as Jonas patted Jerome's back. Jerome noticed the way his usually reticient friend was smiling fondly and squinted even through his overdramatic tears.

When they started jogging, Jerome decided to put his mind off Robert for just a bit- at max ten minutes only, that was all he could manage- and observe Toni.

Thomas jogged alone, in a spot in the group that wasn't at the front, because Leroy, Kai, Leon and the other young ones were faster than him, but was ahead of the others in his age group. His face was set. Fips' worry had re-emerged and he could tell Miro shared it. Basti and Lukas were looking equally as uncomfortable. Mario wasn't with them mentally at all, who knew what the man was thinking about? He was jumpy and distracted and yelped whenever anyone addressed his name.

Thomas had been expecting to remain alone for the laps, but he was surprised when he felt a presence beside him. He turned his head and saw Benni was jogging alongside him.

 _Benni knows something's wrong._ That was what Manu had said last night, before he had finally dropped off. Benni certainly looked worried at the moment. Thomas gave him a friendly smile that the other man reciprocated with a nervous quirk of the lips.

"How is Manu?" Benni asked, looking away from Thomas again. 

"It's nothing serious," Thomas replied calmly. "He's just come down with the same flu virus Mats had. That's all. He's in bed resting right now. The doctor will check in on him." 

Benni nodded almost compulsively. "Right. I hope he gets better."

"Of course. I'll give him your wishes."

They continued jogging. Thomas could read people pretty well, and knew that Benni wanted to ask him more. He waited for the man to say something. Benni was pretty forthright, he would get over his awkwardness eventually. Sure enough:

"Thomas?" Benni asked. 

His voice was surprisingly small.

"Yes?" Thomas said quietly. He turned his head towards Benni, who was still staring quite hard in front of him. 

"Does Manu..." Benni tried to find his words. "Does Manu still get bad dreams?" 

Thomas tried not to feel any surprise. Benni, after all, had known Manu for a very, very long time, for years upon years, they had been teammates after all, even more than that. Of course he would have some sort of idea about Manu's mental state. But his eyebrows raised anyway. He hadn't been expecting Benni to bring this up. For all Manu's begging of him not telling anyone, here was somebody who already knew, who  _remembered._

He fought in his head, inexplicably he felt panicky for a moment. Would Manu be angry at him if he told Benni the truth? Surely not. Benni  _knew._ What was the point of hiding it from him when Benni could potentially help? When Benni might know something that calmed Manu down, or could lend moral support? Benni would also never tell anybody else about it. Thomas was sure of it.

"Yes, he does," Thomas said finally. 

"Right," Benni said again. "Right. Right, right, right." 

They turned a corner. Thomas could hear Benni's heavy breathing. They had both unconsciously sped up.

"He had them bad back in Gelsenkirchen," Benni spoke up again. "They could be pretty scary. Sometimes he used to get panic attacks. Does he still suffer from those?"

Thomas looked warily at Benni. The man's voice had suddenly become a little shaky. 

"Yes," Thomas murmured. "But he's going to see a therapist, Benni. He's going to be okay." 

"Right," Benni said yet again. "Right. I'm glad you're there for him, Thomas. I'm glad he has you."

"Benni?" Thomas said in alarm. Benni's eyes had filled with tears. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Benni nodded, brushing his eyes with his fist rapidly. "Ja, ja, I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, this is stupid. Ignore me." 

"Benni, what's the matter?" Thomas said gently. Seeing Benni looking so vulnerable was startling. "I'm not going to ignore you. Are you worried about Manu? I promise you he'll be fine. He's getting help, he's resting at the moment..."

"Yeah, I know!" Benni said. "I trust you, I know you're probably doing all you can to help him. You're a nice guy, Thomas. I know Manu is in really safe hands." 

"What's worrying you, then?" Thomas asked softly. 

Benni shook his head. "It's so stupid. I just feel guilty as hell."

"Guilty? Why should you feel guilty?" Thomas murmured. "You haven't done anything at all."

"Exactly," Benni said, looking outwards. "I haven't done anything at all. I've been so damn wrapped up in my own head that I haven't even thought to ask him about his problems. I noticed during the last international break that he looked shaky but I didn't reach out to him. Manu doesn't make it that easy, but I should have tried harder. Ever since he left I just let the gulf between us get bigger instead of trying to fix it. It's been years but still I let feelings of betrayal cloud my vision, I threw away our friendship instead of working to make it even stronger while we were apart- we talk, now, yeah, but he doesn't trust me with his serious issues anymore. And now Manu's suffering and I feel useless being unable to help him."

"It's not your fault, Benni. Like you said, Manu is difficult to open up. He didn't even want to tell me about his issues," Thomas whispered. He really hadn't expected this from Benni. "There's nobody to blame for how Manu is at the moment. All we can do is help him as much as we can. Manu doesn't hold anything against you, and neither do I."

"Right..." Benni mumbled. "You're a good man, Thomas. Such a good one. I doubt you'd ever let your career get in the way of your relationships with others. You're always so kind."

"Hey, I'm just doing what anyone would do for the person they love. You would do the same for Mats."

"Yes. I would." Benni turned his head to where Mats was jogging alongside Mario. His boyfriend noticed him and gave him a goofy grin.

"Heeeey, babe!" he called out, winking obnoxiously. Benni smiled back and turned around again.

"If you ever need help," Benni said with quiet resolve. "I'm always going to be here. For Manu, and for you, too. If you want it. I don't know what I can offer, but if you need something from me I'll give it to you. Anything. I remember some of the things we used to do to get him to calm down, some of the breathing stuff, the things I used to say to him. I hope it can help. Manu is- was my best friend, and I still care about him a lot. "

"I know you do," Thomas said with a smile. "Thank you, Benni. I appreciate that so much. Having another person on our side is only bound to make things easier to bear. You're a good person too." 

Benni gave him a tentative smile, finally making eye contact. As the two of them jogged forwards, Thomas was reminded of how many people loved Manu, and how many people wanted him to get better- and he was sure that they could get him through this darkness together.

***

"Super, Bernd!" 

"Das war prima!"

"Unglaublich! Wie hast du es gemacht?"

At one of those moments when a goalkeeper didn't really know what he was doing, Bernd had jumped up and saved a firm header from six yards. He experienced such moments in ecstatic slow-motion, all of a sudden reaching a higher level of perception; everything looked pin-sharp, the white of the training jerseys, the movements of the striker. Other people had such experiences only in traumatic situations, when they suddenly had to brake their car or when they fell off their bike. A goalkeeper could become addicted to those deliciously terrifying moments in a match. Ten minutes into their training game, Bernd tipped another ricocheting ball around the post.

The look of focus on his face was startling. It was rare to see him looking so intense during training. Andreas Köpke thought he knew where this change of behaviour had come from.

Andreas was a very sweet man, but unfortunately, sweet didn't cut it when you were the goalkeeping coach of the German National Team. Ever since he had joined Germany's coaching staff he had had the turbulent task of coaching many different types of goalkeeper over the years. There had been Oliver Kahn, Jens Lehmann, Timo Hildebrand, Tim Wiese, René Adler, Robert Enke, and Manuel Neuer... And then...

Marc-Andre ter Stegen and Bernd Leno.

If he had to judge them on the scale of Lehmann to Neuer in terms of ease to deal with, they would have been below Lehmann. They would've been on their own scale all together. At least Lehmann had been focused on his goalkeeping when he had tried to antagonise Kahn. Leno and ter Stegen... decidedly weren't. They constantly argued, they always ended up getting roared at by Neuer and during every training session Andreas usually had to _beg_ them to concentrate on themselves rather than each other.

At least they were simply petty rather than outright violent. Although Andreas wasn't even sure he had that small comfort. One session had ended with them throwing footballs at each other with Andreas pulling his hair out- that had been when Neuer had been out with a minor injury. God, Neuer was such a comforting presence to Andreas. He was the pinnacle of the absolutely terrifying goalkeeper who kept his teammates in line, though not quite at Kahn levels- but he was also incredibly professional, friendly and accomodating to Andreas during training. He was the one who kept ter Stegen and Leno under reins during their sessions, where Andreas' niceness held him back, and he also had the added benefit of being the best goalkeeper in the world. Andreas had gotten so lucky with him.

But last night Andreas had received a phone call from Neuer telling him he was ill, and couldn't play for the rest of the international break.

Needless to say, Andreas had been feeling trepidation when he had seen the two substitutes approaching him following the team jog that morning.

"Morning, Andy!" Marc-Andre had said brightly. 

"Hey, Andy," Bernd had said with a wave.

"Hallo, hallo. Wie geht's?" Andreas had responded warmly, whilst staring at them beadily all the same. "Did you have a good night?"

"No, because I've been forced to room with Leno for the international break," Marc-Andre said, with feeling. Andreas nodded at this standard response. "Did you get a good night's sleep, Andy? Or are you on strong coffee again?"

"Extra-strong," was all Andreas had said in response. "Now, about today's training. Manuel isn't here today, so that means both of you will have to put some hard work in before the next game. But you both are incredibly capable, so there shouldn't be any problems... right?" 

Bernd and Marc-Andre had exchanged looks. Andreas looked so nervous, certain the session was going to end in a brawl.

"We won't end up trying to kill each other, Andy," Bernd promised. "If ter Stegen watches his step."

"Only if  _Leno_ watches his  _face._ "

"That's what I like to hear," Andreas said with a relieved nod, as Bernd rolled his eyes instead of responding.

It turns out they really were intent on keeping their promise. During the individual goalkeeping training, there had been no incident akin to the 'balls in the face' disaster Bernd still liked to quote. They had actually been fairly diligent, not even really talking to each other. Bernd had been particularly focused. Marc-Andre had been a little more erratic, glancing up a lot instead of focusing on the ball, missing some easy shots, but he too managed to pull off some decent saves.

When they had come into the training game, it became evident that both of them were working hard to fill Neuer's absence. The game left neither of them time to brood over who would be playing in the match, but they showed their own desires through their play. After only a minute following a switch-up in lineups, a free-kick flew in from the left wing and Kai soared high seven yards in front of Bernd's goal, unencumbered. It was an outstanding header, solid, aimed at the right-hand corner. Bernd dived, and as he flew in the air parallel to the bar, his back arching with physical tension, he steered the ball around the post. People who had never been goalkeepers themselves saw saves like that as a goalkeeper's greatest feat. Kai demonstrated this by wildly celebrating his blocked shot.

"Fantastisch, Leno!" Jogi yelled out. He gave Andreas a look, as if to say,  _what did you do to him today?_ Andreas had to shrug. The third keeper was simply incredibly motivated. He wanted to prove himself, and there was no time better than the present to do it, with the best keeper in the world out of the spotlight.

Marc-Andre watched Bernd's incredible saves and said nothing about them. In fact, he didn't think about Bernd at all. He focused mostly on the balls coming up towards his end of the pitch. He had Jerome and Mats in front of his goal, and they were mostly doing the nuts-and-bolts work of the defence for him. However, it became clear after a few minutes that there was a slight problem between them.

"Sorry!" Marc-Andre called out, with a raise of the hand, as the ball thankfully went rolling past his post and out of the danger zone instead of in his net. Marc-Andre hadn't come off his line to collect a cross that had come in from Julian, and so he had been faced with a dangerous situation from Mario, who had ended up scuffing his shot. Marc-Andre could have prevented the whole thing by just moving forwards, but he had expected Jerome and Mats to handle the cross for him. Unfortunately, having played with Manu for such a long time, Mats and Jerome were used to having an eleventh outfielder come out and stop attacks and so had expected Marc-Andre to deal with the cross instead.

Such misunderstandings could be dangerous in a highly pressurised match environment, especially with a substitute goalkeeper who got little game time between the sticks. But they were something that could be easily resolved in training. After a few words from Jogi, Marc-Andre got back into position and was determined not to let a similar situation happen again. Jerome and Mats decided to be extra cautious next time. 

Jogi was so used to remarks from Bernd after mistakes by Marc-Andre that he actually found himself waiting to use his whistle for a while after the incident, but there was nothing. When it became apparent Bernd was more focused on his own game than Marc-Andre's, Jogi smiled to himself and resumed play.

Andreas had known that the competitiveness would be ramped up in training, but he had expected said competitiveness to take the form of wrestling and hitting, not self-reflection and extreme concentration.

Sami and Mesut looked at each other as the two keepers stood tall between their posts, highly tense and alert, teeth gritted, waiting for their moment to prove themselves. Everyone waited for tea and fighting that never came. Only Marc-Andre sensed that something was off, which was almost ironic, because to the rest of them it looked tame compared to what they were usually like. After he had saved a shot majestically, one that Mario Gomez had put spin into with his instep, everyone else had applauded, but Bernd had looked angry for a moment. He and Marc-Andre had made eye-contact for the briefest flash of a second and then Bernd had looked away.

Two minutes later, Bernd pushed a ball over the bar that all the opposition team had already been screaming, "GOAL!" for.

"It's a pity Bernd won't get to play," Sami said wistfully to Mesut, after Bernd had saved this shot from him. "He's looking really good at the moment."

"Yeah, it's rough," Mesut said softly, as he looked at his steely jawed club teammate. "Football can be unfair sometijmes. No matter how much you try, how much you put in, you can still be left out to dry. That's just how it goes."

Sami gave Mesut a half-glance, knowing that the tinge of bitterness to his friend's voice had come with experience. 

When it was time for their lunch break, they were all already tired, the training so far having been almost unneccessarily intense given the relative security of Germany in their Nations League group. Sami and Mesut sat with Jerome, Toni, Mats, Benni, Thomas and Miro at a table- Jerome instantly laid his head in Sami's lap and pulled his phone out, stretching his legs out on the bench and over Toni's.

"Come on, have some food, at least," Sami coaxed, as Mesut reached over to give Jerome a friendly pat on the head.

"I don't need food. I need Rob."

"Just eat some salad," Sami said. "I know you're worried, but you have to take care of yourself too. Here, have a carrot."

"I hate carrots." Jerome gave the carrot in Sami's hand a cross look and reached over to Toni's plate, picking up a single salad leaf and putting it into his mouth. Toni broke his bread roll in half and forced his friend to take it. After some fighting, Jerome finally accepted it.

A few smiles went around the table at this childish display, but otherwise, they were all quiet. As comical as they found Jerome's often theatrical pining after Robert, they knew that Jerome's earlier words- " _I can't be happy when he's not_ "- were true. The love that Jerome had for his boyfriend was almost transcendental. Some might call it 'clinginess', but Jerome had experienced the shattering of a close bond before and it made him want to hold onto his loved ones all the more closely, to make sure they were happy all the time. There was also the fact that Robert was his heart and mind and soul, more important to him than anyone else- and if he was hurt, Jerome had failed in his duty as a lover. 

Thomas understood him. Manu's current state left him feeling raw, vulnerable and exposed, as if he was the one facing the onslaught of despair rather than his boyfriend. Seeing your partner, the person you were meant to protect at all costs, in such pain was agonising- you were both meant to be enjoying your lives together. How were you meant to be happy when your life and light wasn't?

Miro found it hard to see Jerome. Here he and Robert were, so in love, so in tune, that they weathered all the highs and lows together, no matter how turbulent things got. A bitter thought that often found itself bouncing across his mind hit him again-  _why couldn't I have had that?_

They returned to the practice pitch at the end of the lunch break, spirits sobered. Before they got into positions for another practice game, Benni took hold of Mats' wrist. The other centre-back looked back at him in surprise, quirking a dark eyebrow. Benni leaned forwards to give him a kiss.

"I'm glad you're okay," he whispered into Mats' ear, tangling his fingers through Mats' dark curls. Mats smiled at him.

"I always am," he said in return.

They resumed playing, after some dilly-dallying from the lazy players who didn't want to get back into the vigorous session. Bernd and Marc-Andre had been itching to get back into their goals from the get-go- they hadn't spoken a word to each other all throughout the break. 

Even though Jerome was in quite a fragile state, torn between his current thoughts about his boyfriend and the ball beneath his feet, he still managed to play some magnificent passes. Mats was by his side, giving him a sense of security, as always. Mats knew Robert  _very_ well, and knew that both of them shared the flaw of hyper-fixating on criticism, of losing confidence at times- and so he was able to give Jerome some words of comfort, saying that his boyfriend would eventually come around and have his confidence restored again. Although Jerome didn't look entirely convinced, he seemed to gear up and focus on football for a little while. 

"You son of a bitch, Boateng!" Mario Götze laughed, as Jerome tackled him firmly and cleanly, passing the ball to Mats. Jerome didn't smile back, but he did give Mario the tiniest shadow of a wink.

Jonas, on the other hand, was clearly quite distracted. Given his recent sharp performance, the only conclusion that could be drawn from his slowness to mark at corners, his brief moments of indecision that led to the striker being able to surpass him, was tiredness. The left-back was a little bit like an erratic firework right now, sparking randomly, but also falling limp again a moment later. The light that sometimes flared up whenever he was in the middle of a decent run faded whenever he made a mistake. The coach's criticisms that rang out in comparison to the endless praise Jerome and Mats were receiving hit him in the chest.

He simply wasn't on his game today. But in his head, he was thinking,  _you've already failed._ A magnificent last-ditch clearance from Jerome saved him from damaging his team because of an awful misplaced pass he had made, as did a superb run from Mats to reclaim the possession he had clumsily given away. There was no saving him, however, when he mistimed his challenge on an incoming Thomas, who scored absolutely majestically against Marc-Andre, attracting whoops and cheers from the opposition.

"Fuck!" Jonas shouted, as the ball went into the back of his net and his knees skidded across the turf. He got frustrated when he wasn't feeling good, when he wasn't playing well, and he couldn't control it. His cheeks flared up when he was heard- everyone looked at him and started laughing, pretending to be astonished, it was evidently  _hysterical._

"You're still our Fußballgott, don't be angry!" Julian Draxler yelled over at him. 

"Stuff like this  _never_ happens to you, Jonas, what's up with you?" Marc-Andre asked.

"After you had such a good last game! Come on, Hector, clear your head!" Jogi called out.

Blood roared in Jonas' ears. 

A more quiet voice spoke up beside him. "Are you okay, Jonas?" 

Jonas looked up. He was still on his knees, struggling to collect his thoughts. Toni was looking down at him, concern on his face. It was the sight of him looking so worried that spurred Jonas to act. He needed to get off the pitch.

"I think I've hurt my leg," he said in a low voice. He stood up, making his movements wobbly, and it was evidently convincing, as Toni reached out to help steady him. 

"You should go and see the physio," Toni said. "How long has it hurt for?"

"Since I got on the pitch," Jonas lied. 

"That explains it, then," Toni said. "Why you've been a little off your game. You also didn't get much sleep at all. Don't beat yourself up, okay? It's not your fault. Go and get it checked up, you don't want to make it worse."

 _A little off your game._ Patches of red appeared on Jonas' cheeks, his jaw tightened. 

He went over the coach and told him that his leg was hurting, could he please be excused. Jogi waved him off and called on Joshua, moving Fips to the left. Jonas was patted on the back as he left, people yelled at him,  _get well soon, unsere Fußballgott._  

Jonas thanked them, he kept his head down, he walked lopsidedly- and when they were out of sight, he broke into a run.

***

"You just can't catch a break, can you, Marco?"

Klaus Eder had been examining Marco's knee for several minutes, not saying a word- and eventually he had pushed his glasses up through his hair and sighed. Marco hated it when the physiotherapists sighed. He probably should record the sound and put it as his alarm- it always suddenly managed to make him feel more alert and tense.

"I don't know, doctor, I'd say I catch a lot of breaks. Breaks in my fucking body," he said casually despite this, yawning and rubbing a hand through his hair as the physio started rummaging around his cluttered table to find a stretch band. "Don't tell me. I've re-ruptured my ligament and I can't play for the rest of the season."

"Ne, ne," Klaus said absently. "Nothing as extreme as that. It does look like you might not be able to play for the next fixture, though-"

Marco laughed. "Lovely!"

"-for now. I can't be sure yet. We're going to have to do more detailed checks to see what's wrong with your knee, but given the short timespan we have, and your history with injuries, it's all too likely that you'll either be on the bench for the next game, or not in the squad at all." Klaus didn't bother beating around the bush with Marco anymore, the man had become used to taking blows. "How much pain are you feeling at the moment?"

"A lot. I'm acting cool and collected right now, because I'm a peak physical specimen who can tolerate it, unlike the other weaklings you probably treat, but it's not feeling good, sir," Marco said cheerfully. "But you telling me I won't get to play  _again_ makes it all better."

"I'm glad to be of service. Come on, Reus, we can get through this." 

"I'm not sure we can! We haven't gotten through it any other time, after all."

The doctor, used to Marco's doom-and-gloom outlook, just sighed again and lifted up Marco's leg.

Marco was surprised his teeth were still present, he had grinded them so hard during all the painful excercises Klaus had inflicted on him. As he ambled out of the doctor's office (it was more accurately elegant limping), he still felt an ache in his leg. He was going to have to return in a couple of hours or so, but he could take a break now, Klaus had told him. There's no point putting you through it all in one go, there's no point in rushing this again.

_Jawohl, doc. Nobody's expecting me to play in the first place._

He walked out of the training complex, ignoring the staff who called out, "Hallo, Herr Reus!" His expression was calm, but his face was bright red. Lots of the workers in the training ground looked puzzled, wondering why Marco Reus was wandering around aimlessly in his own clothes, rather than training with the team.

He exited the main building and walked out towards one of the empty pitches- the national team were on the other side of the complex. His movements were slow, and yet his heart-rate wasn't.  _Thump, thump, thump,_ went his heart. His face was hot. 

He was expecting to be alone- he was, after all, the only one injured, the only one missing out- but he was surprised to see that he actually _wasn't_ the only one inhabiting this otherwise empty area at that moment. Sitting on one of the benches, with his back to Marco, was undoubtedly Jonas Hector. Jonas didn't hear Marco's footsteps, and Marco didn't make his presence known until he was standing right behind the man. 

Rings of smoke were drifting through the air. Jonas was smoking a cigarette. 

"Guilty conscience, Herr Hector?" Marco said, when he was right behind Jonas. "I never pegged you to be a shame-smoker."

Jonas jumped out of his skin. Marco watched him stumble to his feet and hurriedly stub out his cigarette as though it were some sort of bomb he needed to get rid of quickly. His panic was almost amusing- his face had turned bright red, his eyes were wide, he was instantly stammering.

"Marco- I- I-" Jonas shook his head rapidly. "I'm sorry. I don't do it a lot. I only do it when- when-"

He trailed off, looking desperate, as though Marco was about to slap him down for smoking. 

Marco just laughed. "You're evil, Hector, don't you know what you're doing to your poor lungs? You're an athlete."

"I-"

"What could have possessed you to do something so inhumane?" Marco continued with relish. "Everyone was wrong about you."

He didn't know what he was doing. His own inner anger was close to boiling over, every crack in his fucking weak body fit to explode from all the emotions he had packed away inside of him. In his head, he was thinking,  _look at you, you're hiding just as much as I am. You and your niceness, it's the same as me with my arrogance. Come out, Jonas, show me who you really are. Show me who you really are and show me I can do the same._

"I'm sorry," Jonas said, though he didn't look sorry. 

"Sorry?" Marco said. "You're always sorry. You never really mean it, though, do you?"

Jonas' expression was tense. He looked confused and upset, but also, for a moment, he looked angry. Marco saw it on his face.

"Why do you always feel the need to fucking apologise?" Marco said. "You're smoking, not killing someone. Why are you saying sorry to me? Have you hurt me? Has my image of you been destroyed in my head? Do you ever even think about yourself? What the fuck does it matter what I think?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jonas said breathlessly. He was moving away from Marco. 

"Yes, you do," Marco said. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"No, I don't!" Jonas snapped suddenly. "Can you please just- I don't know why you're-" 

He broke off. 

"Tell me," Marco said. "Tell me that you're angry at me. Tell me that you're angry I've suddenly attacked you, for no reason, and made you feel uncomfortable. Don't fucking hold it back from me. I'm being a dick to you. Why aren't you responding to me?" 

Jonas stared at Marco. "I'm going. I'm going."

"Go, Jonas!" Marco yelled after him, as the left-back turned and hurried away. "Go! Keep it all in there- it'll come out eventually!"

He didn't know whether he was warning himself or the other man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! i'm still furious. 
> 
> https://www.bavarianfootballworks.com/2019/3/5/18251616/germany-the-aftermath-of-arrogance-part-two-lows-revenge-thomas-muller-jerome-boateng-mats-hummels  
> this is an article that explains it all, really.
> 
> this really puts a dampener on the spirit of this fic- of course i'm still going to write it, and i'm going to write it vengefully good- after all, this takes place in a timeline where none of this recent shit exists. but i have a feeling everything is going to change. sami is definitely going to be the next one on the chopping block- mesut would have been if he was still in the squad. manu's days are probably numbered which is the biggest disgrace of all- everyone's calling for him to be dropped too, so fucking ter stegen can take over. all i can say to that is, fuck off. fuck off. all i can hope for is if the players shun the dfb for this decision, the locker room must surely be lost. i can't write jogi the same again.
> 
> transition takes place in steps, not by making huge stupid fucking decisions and getting rid of this much experience at once. these players should have been allowed to play the euros and then they should've been given the chance to take a dignified step down- IF it became abundantly clear that their quality was entirely lost. mats is still world class. jerome could've been like per at the 2014 WC. thomas couldve been the perfect person to integrate attacking players. dumping all 3 players publically is so humiliating and i seriously want to sob.
> 
> i've seen some bad decisions in my lifetime. but never any as bad as this. i cannot believe no player is speaking up about this, it's comical. it's farcical.
> 
> thomas, jerome and mats, thank you for giving me one of the happiest days of my life- winning that world cup. 
> 
> jerome, mats and thomas' days may even be numbered at bayern, given the cruelty and recency bias of football. for that i say- thank you for the treble, thomas and jerome. thank you for the bundesliga, for your incredible reading of the game, for your charisma and talent, mats. thank you all for everything. 
> 
> i have to say a special thank you to thomas. it's hit me hardest. thank you for being my hero. thank you for being the funniest, goofiest yet also the most fearsome german player. thank you for giving germany hope for the future. you don't deserve this. no german fan agrees with this. i can't believe yesterday i was having a conversation with mariangela about how these players are idolised by german people and then this happens. it's the lack of closure that hurts the most.
> 
> i love all three of you. you will never be forgotten. you're on my wall, you're on the stage in front of screaming fans holding the world cup in your hands, you're on the huge screens in marienplatz as you win it all. i will never forget the moment you gave me that day- the delirious screaming, the dancing, the singing, the crying. 
> 
> this is all so unfair. i'm so sad. the old days aren't coming back. 
> 
> don't worry, there'll be a chapter focused on all three of them soon, i need to give them a huge tribute somehow. the fact this was written before this all dropped is the reason there isn't much of them in this as there should be.
> 
> the poor structure in this chapter is just me in my sad overemotional state. the marco/jonas scene... i don't even know just pretend it doesn't exist


	65. Chapter 65

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 20!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this dedication is to ren, aka Coffeebreakcreations :) thank you for reading this fic and i'm glad i've gotten you into thiago/javi because they are an I C O N I C couple <3 im sorry this messy af chapter is devoted to u lol
> 
> guys my tumblr is tripping thats why theres been little response sorry
> 
> WHAT A RESULT, WHAT A GAME YESTERDAY! BEAUTIFUL ON SO MANY DIFFERENT LEVELS, THE ROARS WHEN WE FOUND OUT STUTTGART EQUALISED (tho ofc they didn't manage to ride it out til the end) I CHEERED SO MUCH. THE ATMOSPHERE IN THE STADIUM WAS INSANE! THOMAS, MATS, AND JEROME- WELL FUCKING DONE YOU BEAUTIES, VINTAGE PERFORMANCES, JUST TO SHOW THAT FUCKING IDIOT IN CHARGE OF THE NT WHAT YOU CAN DO! ASSIST AND GOAL FOR THOMMY! A FAULTLESS PERFORMANCE FROM JEROME AND MATS (I LAUGHED SO HARD AT HIS MISSED GOAL, AHHHH IF HE HAD GOTTEN THAT IT WOULDVE BEEN THE CHERRY ON THE CAKE) ROBERT LEWANDOWSKI, BEAUTIFUL, SERGE GNABRY, BEAUTIFUL, FRANCK RIBERY, 3 ASSISTS IN 10 MINUTES, STILL GOT IT! BACK WHERE WE BELONG- TOP OF THE GODDAMN TABLE! TO THE SECOND LEG IN THE ALLIANZ ARENA!
> 
> as this is an alternate timeline and nothing in this fic is real we're pretending JOGI has a totally different personality okay jogi is officially a different person in this fic with the name of jogi
> 
> im buzzing so much, im so happy for the boys!!!!

"My mother cried the day I was born, because she knew she would never be better than me. That's how amazing, how talented and how important I am. And yet this squad and its forsaken coach refuses to see it! I am underappreciated and undervalued. Madrid would _never,_ " James Rodriguez moaned to the heavens, as he lay draped out on Serge Gnabry's carpet in his living room, watching a vine playlist.

"Man, shut the hell up," Serge said, as he stared anxiously at his phone. "Underappreciated and undervalued are _synonyms._ "

"Your mother is a synonym. A synonym for... fucking _ugly._ "

"You're a synonym. A synonym for a needy pussy bitch."

"That was so _rude!_ " James clutched his heart and rolled over on the carpet. Serge ignored him. "I bet I'm not even going to get an apology. That's just how _undervalued_ and _underappreciated I am._ "

"No, you're not getting an apology because you don't deserve one. Needy pussy bitch," Serge said absently. "Do you know what's _really_ rude? The fact that Robert Lewandowski isn't replying to me. _That's_ the rudest thing. I sent him three messages six and a half minutes ago and he hasn't sent a single solitary word in response."  

"Six and a half minutes is nothing, you fucking loser. He's a normal person, maybe he's busy doing something instead of sitting on his ass moping about _Leo_."

"Are you fucking kidding me? Have you ever seen him and Jerome? He didn't reply to Leo for three hours once, and then Jerome sent him a message about the fact he had bought a new pair of trainers and Robert instantly sent him seven messages asking him to show what they looked like. _Instantly_."

"He's in Portugal! And anyway, why is he going to give a fuck about a message from you in the first place?" James said, rolling his eyes heartily. "Who's the real needy bitch here? Just give up on him and take my advice inst-"

"HA!" Serge yelled out in triumph suddenly. "What were you saying, Rodriguez? _Message from Robert Lewandowski!_ Now I can talk to someone with sense!"

"Lord give me strength, why are my friends all the worst..." James intoned, as Serge eagerly checked his phone.

_Private chat between Serge Gnabry and Robert Lewandowski_

**Serge:** r o b e r t!

 **Serge:** my hungry striker!

 **Serge:** the man i lveo to feed!

 **Robert:** What?

 **Serge:** im sorr i dont think before i type

 **Serge:** i just mean im a winger so i feed the striker balls to scOre

 **Robert:** No you don't you shoot in improbable positions and if you do feed me it's with weak crosses

 **Serge:** wow...

 **Serge:** i...

 **Robert:** Then again it is me so even if you did give me a perfect assist I probably wouldn't score it

 **Serge:** oh hey no wait

 **Serge:** i don't agree

 **Serge:** you can bicycle kick that shit in

 **Robert:** In the wrong net

 **Serge:** no in the right net like youve done 27 times in all competitions this season already

 **Robert:** Blatant flattery, I see how it is

 **Robert:** What do you want from me Gnabry

 **Serge:** i don't want anything im not flatring u i mean it

 **Robert:** flatring

 **Serge:** damn just let me LIVE my fingers move too fast okay

 **Robert:** Evidently not much else does

 **Robert:** Ie your brain

 **Serge:** you know what-

 **Serge:** i'm going to calmly and professionally change the topic and get this over with quickly

 **Serge:** can i talk to you about something

 **Robert:** Is your name Jerome Boateng

 **Serge:** no

 **Robert:** Then no

 **Serge:** come on my man

 **Serge:** you talk to jerome every minute of the day you're not bound by some other responsibility i'm sure you can survive switching it up a little

 **Robert:** You'd be wrong

 **Serge:** it's embarrassing tea to do with my crush

 **Robert:** I'm interested

 **Robert:** What about Leon

 **Serge:** W

 **Serge:** H

 **Serge:** A

 **Serge:** T

"What's the matter, man?" James asked, as Serge let out a little scream. "Did Robert send you a dick pic that was meant for Jerome?"

"No!" Serge gasped. "I wish he had! He _knows_ _!_ "

"What does he know?"

"He knows I like Leon!" Serge sank so low down his sofa he fell off of it and onto the floor.

"I don't know why you're so surprised. Do you really think you've been a master at hiding it?"

For the sake of his sanity, Serge ignored James and returned his gaze to his phone, his heart thumping.

 **Serge:**  HOW DID YOU KNOW OMG WHAT THE FUCK IM SCREAMING IM DYING

 **Robert:** Uh because I'm the gayest most in tune with my gayness person out there, so I recognise all the other gays

 **Robert:**  I also have eyes

 **Robert:** You've passed back to him when I'm in the box in a scoring position

 **Serge:** FOR THE LAST TIME I DIDN'T SEE YOU THERE

 **Robert:** I was literally screaming for you to pass to me

 **Robert:** Thomas was screaming for you to pass to me

 **Robert:** Manu yelled at you for not passing to me

 **Serge:** WHY DOES THAT MEAN I LIKE HIM

 **Robert:** You also have:

 **Robert:** 1) Choked on your sandwich and coughed for forty two seconds when Leon patted your back when you passed each other

 **Robert:** 2) Fallen over your own legs when Leon gave you an unexpected pass in training

 **Robert:** 3) Started beating James up and telling him to shut the fuck up for saying 'Leo' in a high-pitched voice when Leon wasn't even in the vicinity

 **Robert:** Not to mention James in general

 **Serge:** OHHHHHHH MY GOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDDDD

 **Serge:** HOW OBIOUS IS IT ON A SCALE OF 1-10 OMG IM GOING TO D  I E

 **Robert:** To the observant 11

 **Robert:** So the Bayern squad it'll be 3

 **Serge:** OH MY GOD

 **Serge:** IF YOU'VE KNOWN THEN WHY HAVEN'T YOU TEASED ME ABOUT IT

 **Serge:** WHY HAVEN'T I BEEN PUBLICLLY HUMILLIATED EVISERATED AND DRIVEN TO DESPIR BY YOU

 **Robert:** Because you remind me of Jeri

 **Serge:**????????????/

 **Serge:** as in...

 **Serge:** cool? collected? funny? stylish+fashionable?

 **Robert:** A nervous, awkward shy wreck of a human being when interacting with their crush

 **Serge:** oh...

 **Serge:** ok... time for me to dirve my car into the oecean... 

 **Serge:** why does me reminding u of jermoe's negative traits make u not want to embarrrass me

 **Robert:** I never said they were negative nothing about Jeri is negative you take that back

 **Robert:** Jeri is adorable

 **Serge:** are you calling me adorable then??

 **Robert:** Gnabry does your brain function properly

 **Robert:** I said JERI is adorable

 **Serge:** this converstion is giving me an out of body experence

 **Robert:** Anyway I didn't want to publically humiliate you because I, unlike you Germans, believe in letting people find love in their own way

 **Robert:** I'm an advocate for the no-interference policy Fips put in place for Mesami

 **Serge:** are you really? those guys aer pretty bad man you pretty much conedemned them to nevrf finding love

 **Serge:** anyway my very foundations of being are shook

 **Robert:** You spelled foundations right, well done

 **Serge:** omg stop shading me im gonana cry i misssplel when im nervous

 **Serge:** i cnawt believe that u the ulatimate gay ddont want to interfere in another gay person's life

 **Serge:** u tell jermeo EVERYTHING ans you havent told him about this???

 **Robert:** Ok that's actually cute you misspell so much when you're talking to Leon

 **Robert:** You reminding me of Jeri makes me think that you and Leon could have a really good relationship if you both come together naturally

 **Robert:** You both seem really cute and happy when you're with each other

 **Robert:** Unfortunately if I told Jeri  about it there'd be no 'natural' about it so I've been quiet just for you

 **Robert:** I'm an empathetic gay

 **Serge:** my  benvolent fairy gaymother

 **Robert:** Jawohl 

 **Serge:** so,,,,, even when jermoe was being anervuous wreck.. you still were Attracted? you weren't Put Off?

 **Robert:** Überhaupt nicht

 **Robert:** I like every single aspect of Jeri's personality and I'd never be put off by anything about him

 **Robert:** The only thing I dislike about him is the fact he thinks Kefir doesn't taste nice

 **Serge:** kefir is disgusting

 **Robert:** Your finishing is disgusting

 **Serge:** :(

 **Serge:** so,,, do you tHink leo would mabe like me back????

 **Serge:** he called me pretety... and we texr all the time.... and we laguah a lot together...

 **Serge:** he is SO beatiful and funny and everythuign about him makes my heart sING

 **Serge:** i like him sooooo much im dying

 **Robert:** I definitely think Leon likes you back

 **Robert:** You both have good chemistry 

 **Robert:** Leon calls you Sergi

 **Serge:** he DOES OMG

 **Robert:** You could be the Robome of the next gen if you be brave

 **Robert:** You both are really good friends and you can move on to bigger things happily, there's no barrier, I think you'll be ok Serge

 **Robert:** Don't do any stupid shit like listening to James and you two will have no issue

"Hey! Why is listening to me stupid shit?" James' voice rang out from next to Serge. Serge let out another scream and almost fell off of the sofa when he realised James had moved from the carpet and right next to Serge, peering at his messages over his shoulder.

"Jesus Christ!" Serge gasped. "When did you get there?"

"When I noticed your leg was doing that nervous bopping thing again, which meant you were probably talking about tea, which I of course wanted to see."

"Shut up and go away!" Serge said, pushing James, but the Colombian just flung his arms around Serge as the winger tried to return to his conversation with Robert.

 **Serge:** dakne robert for real

 **Serge:** i knew tlaking to u would be a good idea

 **Serge:** ofc the person in the happiiest realationship wouled be the cleverestabotu thisz

 **Robert:** Are you having a stroke Serge

 **Serge:** yes

 **Robert:** Well get well soon and then ask Leon out

 **Robert:** Don't do what you're not comfortable with but also don't hold yourself back too much

 **Robert:** Now I've gotta go but good luck Gnabz

 **Robert:** Make your benevolent fairy gaymother proud

 **Serge:** i will do all in my power

 **Serge:** go and scroe goals have fun

 **Robert:** I will not

 **Robert:** Bye

James roared with laughter as Serge shut his phone off and tried to hide his face in a cushion. The winger's face was burning with embarrassment at his inability to behave normally, but he also couldn't contain his wild grin.  _Robert_ approved,  _Robert_ thought Serge had a chance!  

"I've literally been telling you the exact same thing," James told Serge, as Serge said this aloud, fanning his hands in front of his face. "Why does Robert telling you it count more than me telling you it?"

"Because Robert has valid opinions and knows what he's talking about." Serge grabbed James' shoulders and started shaking him. "James! I think I'm really gonna go for it! After the international break! After the game against Schalke, if it goes well!"

"Is this a real promise or a spur-of-the-moment flash of confidence because Robert endorsed you?" James enquired. 

Mysteriously, Serge didn't seem to have heard this. 

"It doesn't matter if I'm a nervous fool," he said cockily, as if being a nervous fool was something to be proud of. "Because Leo will like me either way, just like Robert liked Jeri. No more of this self-deprecation! I am a nervous, bumbling buffoon and I am loved for it! It's going to go okay!" 

"That's great, but I don't understand where your self-consciousness came from in the first place, do you think Goretzka is suave or something?" James snorted. "You're both on the same wavelength. You would've been fine all along." 

"Leo is so cool, I don't know what you're talking about," Serge sighed admiringly. "He's iconic. He stops my heart in my chest."

This was demonstrated a moment later. Serge's phone buzzed, and when he checked what the notification was, he hit James in the face accidentally in his alarm.

"Ow! My beautiful face!" James yelled, clutching his nose. "What'd you do that for, you big asshole?"

Then he looked at Serge, who was already typing and totally disregarding him.

_Private chat between Leon Goretzka and Serge Gnabry_

**Leon:** hey hey heyyyyy sergi! 

 **Leon:** what's popping? how ya doing? 

 **Serge:** wloudnt you LIKE o know

"Fucking  _Leo!_ " James cried in exasperation. He got up off of the sofa dramatically, and still went ignored. "I'm going back to my vines!"

***

"I'm  _telling_ you, guys, watch Forrest Gump and tell me that Tom Hanks doesn't look like Manu!" Kai thrust his phone, bearing Google Images, into Julian's face. "Look at him! Look at the facial structure! It's uncanny! If you ignore the hair, it's Manu through and through!"

"I've watched Forrest Gump eight times, because it's a masterpiece! And I still think that Tom Hanks doesn't look like Manu!" Julian was adamant about his point of view, closing his eyes so he couldn't see the pictures Kai had pulled up. "Tom Hanks is Tom Hanks, Manu is Manu!"

"Oh, come on!" Kai jumped up and down on his bed in frustration. "Bernd, I'm not alone, here, am I? Don't you think that Tom Hanks totally looks like Manu? Even now he looks like he could be an older version of Manu, which is super flattering to Manu, just saying-"

Bernd, who was watching the England versus Spain Nations League match on the hotel room's TV and not listening to a word of his friends' bickering, gave a cursory grunt. Kai decided to take this as a point in his favour.

"Bernd agrees!" he said to Julian. "So take  _that!_ "

"He literally made a disinterested grunt! How can you take that as him agreeing with you?"

"It wasn't disinterested, it was approving! Right, Bernd?" Kai waved a hand in front of Bernd's face. "It was an approving grunt, wasn't it?"

"IF JACK IS INJURED AGAIN!" Bernd bellowed, as he saw Jack Wilshere go down painfully in the middle of the field. "HE GOT HIS FIRST START OF THE SEASON ONLY THE GAME BEFORE THE INTERNATIONAL BREAK!"

"That was approving," Kai said to Julian. "He's shaking his fist. Which represents the fact he wants to shake my hand. Which is a sign of approval."

Julian scoffed. "You're a trip. And you're wrong. Next you'll be telling me you believe Rami Malek and Mesut look alike too-"

"Oh, no, I don't think that! Mesut is way better looking!"

"Oh, my  _God,_ you are the  _worst!_ Pharaoh Ahkmenrah from Night at the Museum was my first crush, he is a ray of sunshine, the most beautiful man alive, he made me realise I was gay, and you're just out here saying  _Mesut_ is better looking-"

"Hey, put some respect on Mesut's name!" Kai said. "And you're wrong about who the most beautiful man alive is! Pharaoh Ahk- Ahnkmen- that Night of the Museum guy, he's nothing compared to  _Olivier Giroud!_ And, d'you know what,  _Julian?_ _That movie wasn't even good._ Ben Stiller is  _overrated._ "

Julian stood up. "You've gone too far."

"Speaking of Olivier Giroud," Bernd said casually, as his phone screen flashed. "He's calling me now."

Kai screamed. Before Julian could get another word in edgeways, the boy had suddenly grabbed his hand and was dragging him out onto the balcony. Bernd lay back on his bed as Wilshere got up and signalled he was okay to play on, and swiped right on the call.

"Olivier!" Bernd said cheerfully, as the French striker's face appeared on his screen. He cast a glance through the sliding door that led to the balcony- he could see Kai out there, peering anxiously through the glass, while Julian looked beyond exasperated. "You called just at the right moment, mein Freund."

"There's never not a right moment to get a phone call from me, my friend," Olivier said amiably. He wasn't wearing a shirt, revealing the shoulders the German National Team loved so much.

"That's right," Bernd said. "How are things with the French National Team? What tactics are you planning on using in the next game? What lineup are you guys putting out?"

"Our sole tactic is to channel a lot of French spite and hope that Manuel Neuer is susceptible to it, don't get too excited," Olivier snorted. "It's too much for us to ask Hugo to keep a clean sheet, look at the club he plays for, after all. It's too big of a step for the poor man, he's so used to conceding to the opposition. Comme moi."

"Accurate and apt," Bernd said solemnly. "Have you called Nacho? Is he bored, being at home?"

"Of course he is," Olivier sighed. "Nacho cannot sit still for ten seconds, let alone for a week while all the other international teams get to play. And he has lost his only grounding force in Per."

"In Per? Why?"

"Per is coming to see you guys play, apparently," Olivier said with a shrug. "So now Nacho is going to probably run loose with Shkrodan  back in London."

"Per's coming? That's cool, he never told us that, Lukas didn't tell me either," Bernd said. Per had a muscle injury, which was why he hadn't been called up for the international break. "Nacho should be happy he isn't here, to be honest, have you seen Spain recently?"

"Yes, I have. And I love it. Anyway, how are _you_ , mon ami?" Olivier asked. "I thought I would check up on you. The international break, after all, must be more than a little stressful for you at the moment, given everything that happened in Barcelona-"

"Ahahaha yes of course the international break!" Bernd said loudly, glancing out to where Kai was hiding with Julian on the balcony. It now seemed like they were arguing about Rami Malek again rather than paying attention to anything Bernd might be saying, not that they could hear him anyway. "Nice of you to check up on me, Oli, I was just planning to do it myself-"

"No, you weren't."

"You're right, I wasn't," Bernd said sheepishly. "Between being back with the German National Team and having to deal with nearly dying from a cardiac arrest every day, I haven't had much time to think of anyone but myself." 

Olivier nodded. "Yes, I thought things might not be going too well for you."

"I  _was_  fucking dying, at the beginning of it all." Outside on the balcony, Kai threw a mint into the air, and Julian opened his mouth to catch it- but the sweet instead went sailing over the edge of the building. "This whole ter Stegen thing was just as stressful as we anticipated- but at least I came into this prepared. It's not been as bad as I expected." 

"So has anybody found out about it?" Olivier enquired thoughtfully. "I am surprised I haven't received multiple videos from Mesut of you being publically eviscerated, courtesy of Marco Reus."

"Oh, God, Oli, you'll never  _believe_ what happened with Marco, that fucking reminds me," Bernd said eagerly. "He found out!"

Olivier looked alarmed. "He found  _out?_ But Bernd- you are still alive, and talking to me!"

"I sure am!" Bernd laughed. "He walked in on us kissing, and when we saw his face we thought- that's it. It's all over. But you'll never guess what Marco said!"

"What did he say? From everything Mesut has told me, I was under the impression he would be the type of person to instantly scream for the entire squad..."

"That was our impression too. Turns out we were pretty damn wrong!" Bernd was grinning at the memory. "He was actually really  _nice._ He told us to chill out, and told us to stop being so uptight and start having fun together, instead of constantly tiptoeing. He also said he wasn't gonna say anything about it. It was great. He made Marc-Andre cry."

Olivier looked like he was having a revelation. "That was very kind of him. Maybe I  _shouldn't_ trust Mesut's character judgement..."

"I've been thinking the same thing myself," Bernd snorted. "Marco is a really sound guy."

"But is this not a good thing?" Olivier said. "You have been so worried about other people founding out- and then the supposed worst person on the squad discovered your secret, and didn't make your lives hell because of it! Surely that should put your mind at ease."

Bernd hesitated, as Olivier looked at him expectantly. He had been the one so skeptical about Bernd's flight to Barcelona that had started this whole relationship, but ever since he had discovered that things had actually worked out between Marc-Andre and Bernd, he had that romantic glint in his eye, that usually appeared when he got to interfere in his friends' love lives...

"Ahahahaha," Bernd said again, to give himself time to think. "It has eased things off, you're right! Things are going swimmingly." 

"Ah, but now you are lying," Olivier said at once. Bernd cursed to himself, of course he had given himself away immediately. "I can see it in your face. What has happened between you and Marc-Andre? You haven't already fought, have you? It has not even been a quarter of a month!"

"We haven't  _fought,_ " Bernd said sullenly. "It's nothing. Really."

" _It's nothing. Really,_ " Olivier mimicked, putting on a startlingly good German accent. "I made myself sound like Mesut. Because he is equally as transparent as you. And he is German."

"I got that, yes."

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" Olivier demanded. "Vous allemands! Il y a toujours quelque chose qui cloche."

"I didn't even say anything. You're just doing that thing where you immediately assume something's wrong because you have no faith in anybody. And now you're going to harass me until I tell you what it is."

"So you admit it is something."

Bernd rolled his eyes heartily. "Oli, it could be the happiest day of my life and you'd still suspect me of hiding a deep, dark secret. What do you want me to do?"

"Tell me what's wrong."

"It's nothing. Really," Bernd repeated, then held his hand up before Olivier could mimic him again. "Me and Marc-Andre are fine. We're still in that glossy honeymoon period where we fuck out of the sight of others and nobody knows about us yet. Things really are going swimmingly- swimmingly by our standards, anyway."

Olivier made a skeptical noise. Just as he was about to open his mouth to launch a scathing attack and expose every tell that showed that Bernd was lying, however, Bernd suddenly realised something was terribly wrong.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Julian was alone on the balcony.

Bernd hadn't heard the sliding door open, he had been so preoccupied with evading Olivier.

He turned his head slowly.

Kai was standing in the room, his eyes very, very wide, bent over his bedside drawer, with a portable charger in his hand.

Bernd evaporated.

"Oli," he said very quickly. "I have to go." 

"What?" Olivier demanded. "But Bernd- you haven't told me-"

"See you soon!"

"You must tell me everything on the matchday-!" Olivier called out.

Bernd hung up hastily. He got to his feet, tossing his phone onto his bed, still staring at Kai, who was staring at him back.

"Kai..." Bernd said steadily.

"Bernd..." Kai said weakly back. "I just... I just came to get my charger... I was being really quiet... I didn't want Giroud to hear me... and then..."

"Kai, how much did you hear?" Bernd asked slowly. 

Kai's look said it all. As did his dramatic collapse onto the bed.

***

In the gym there was a large window that looked out onto the multiple training fields, where players in rehab could have a perfect view of the first team's training sessions while they agonised on the excercise machines. Right now everything looked eerie outside, with the sky dark and the pitches usually full of white shirts empty. The moon was hanging above the trees, as well as the rest of Paris that stretched beyond the training complex. Everything was silent.

Marco was the only one in the gym at the moment. He had entered the suite after dinner with no intention of going to bed, especially given that nobody needed him at training tomorrow. Whenever his body failed him, he decided that he would work twice as hard to revive it- even if sometimes it felt he was punishing himself rather than trying to get better again. Pushing himself vigorously was a good way to stop thinking about the constant, lingering tension in body, in his brain- he used the physical strain to tease out some semblance of defiance within him, to make him forget the buzzing in his goddamn mind...

He sat on the barbell bench which was usually inhabited by Manu or Jerome and tied up the laces of his trainers, before stretching his arms behind his back. His knee pain had spread to every part of his goddamn body. His heart felt the most constricted of all. But he was going to put exertion on his shoulders whether he liked it or not. He was not weak. He could handle it.

Jonas' momentarily furious expression swam into his head as he carried out a few completely random excercises using the equipment. Marco replayed the conversation from earlier over and over again in his mind. Him pushing Jonas, desperate for a reaction. Jonas holding himself back just barely. The left-back's timely escape, just before Marco really broke down.

Jonas' fingers had twitched as if he had been itching to put them around Marco's throat. Marco was sure that they had only been seconds away from a fight- God, how he would have liked to throw himself into a frenzy of irrational thought, to let out the anger that was stored within his fucking veins. But the defender had saved himself, just like he always did, the moment his real emotions were about to break loose. It was almost admirable, Marco thought, as his muscles informed him they were too tired for the excercises he was doing. Jonas was a dedicated performer. He had self-control that was far stronger than Marco's- Marco, at least, got to be mean and snipe at others when he was under stress, as it was what people expected of him...

They just didn't expect the other stuff. Like the fact that emotions were clogging up his throat at that very moment...

 _"Marco, what are you doing?" Mario was on the verge of tears. "What are you_ doing?  _Why aren't you_ telling  _me anything? What's wrong with you?"_

_"Nothing, Mar. Really." Marco kept running on the treadmill, his legs pumping up and down, his heart racing both from the exertion and the presence of the man standing near him. "Why do you keep worrying? I'm fine."_

_"You're fine?" Mario sounded incredulous. "Then why don't you look at me? Why don't you look at me and tell me you're fine? Or is that too difficult for you? Ever since I've come back home you haven't even give me so much as a glance."_

_Marco turned around to look at him, directly in the eyes. "I'm fine."_

_Mario stared at him for a long time as Marco ran on the treadmill, his eyes straight ahead again. And then he turned around and left, and Marco was sure he had heard the faintest sob as the door wrenched shut behind him._

_He kept on running._

Marco stood up. His knee hurt. His mind hurt. His heart hurt.

_I'm going. I'm going._

_Go, Jonas, go! Keep it all in there- it'll come out eventually!_

It was time for another next set of excercises, this time on the leg-press. He clamped his feet in the machine, jaw clenched in expectation of the coming exertion. And then the weights in the contraption flew up as if no exertion was too much for him.

***

Although Mats knew he couldn't really stop Jerome from fretting over Robert until the two of them saw each other again, he did know how to help the man take his mind off of his worry for a while. In times of stress, Mats often fell upon his most trusted philosophy, a solution that had worked for him in more situations than he cared to admit-  _when the going gets tough, get drunk and forget._

Although Jerome was the most open man in the world, sometimes even he needed to push his feelings somewhere the sun didn't shine. The two centrebacks shared this life principle- they had resorted to this method many times over the past few years, whether it be to forget about the newest media criticism or to get over shared guilt about defensive errors. They flocked to a bar, bought a round or ten and drank until they felt nothing anymore. It was their little tradition. Whenever Robert joined them it turned into a venting session, thus they had christened the practice, "Drink and Despair".

He felt like this could be something to bring Jerome out of his slump now. Mats had his own thoughts circling around in his mind and he wanted to shoot them down for a bit. Most of all, the idea of drinking and kicking back with his centre-back buddy again sounded very fun. It always was. He got Benni to come along with him. Maybe they could pick Thomas up, Thomas had been a little too tense and quiet recently.

"Thomas probably won't want to drink with us, he's taking care of Manu. Manu's ill."

"Oh yeah, Manu! Why don't we bring him along, too? Heavy drinking always loosens him up, makes him less scary," Mats suggested, basically ignoring everything Benni had just said.

"He's got the flu, Mats."

"Yes. And? They say to drink a lot of fluids when you're ill."

"You concern me."

Inexplicably, it was Sami who answered when Mats knocked on Jerome's door.

"Leroy left the room to handle some sort of personal issue," the central midfielder explained, at Mats' bemused expression. "I have no idea what was up with him, he had his bags and everything, but anyway, when he left we came to hang out with Jeri. But he's moping again. Lewandowski went to sleep."

"Perfect," Mats said. He strode into the room, where Jerome was sprawled out on his bed, staring at the ceiling, while Mesut sat at the foot of the bed reading a book. "Jeriii?"

Jerome gave Mats and Benni a sideways glance, his expression befitting that of a sulky child. "What are you two doing here?"

Mats gave a sweeping bow. "I came to fill your heart with joy. It's something that will bound to make you leap out of your bed instantly and do a lap around the hotel. Want to hear what I have in mind?"

"Is it to do with Robert Lewandowski?"

"No-"

"Then no."

"Drink and despair?" Mats said, ignoring this.

He got the reaction he wanted, though it was less extreme. Jerome squinted thoughtfully.

"Drinks on me," Mats added, to seal the deal. "Freeloading Fotze."

"Done," Jerome said at once. "It's been too long since the last D&D. This is the perfect time to do it. I need to get out of this damn hotel bed, where Rob isn't with me. Rob isn't with me!"

"There, there," Mats said soothingly, as Jerome's face crumpled again. "Put that energy into your shots. Mesut, Sami, are you two down for a bit of drinking and despairing as well?"

"I'd like nothing better," Sami said.

"That's all I ever do," Mesut chimed in.

"Then let's get  Mülli and Manu and make it a real party," Mats said eagerly. 

"Mats, Manu is _ill,_ " Benni sighed.

"Your sense of fun is ill."

Jerome seemed a little more animated now, as he sprang out of bed. He would have quite liked to invite Toni, but late-night drinking wasn't quite in the father's comfort zone. He slid on a jacket and a cap to hide his face and then the group of players went off to find Thomas.

Benni was the one who knocked. He knew that Thomas was almost definitely going to refuse to join them, but Mats was persistent. Before Benni could persuade him to backtrack, the tired looking Bavarian was in the doorway, looking confused.

"What's up?" he asked, staring at the small group in front of him. "Are you all going somewhere?"

"Yeah, we are," Mats said, before Benni could say anything. "We're going to get shit-faced in a bar and let the alcohol flush out our worries. Want to come?"

Benni winced, already about to tell Thomas it was okay, that he didn't have to come, when a voice croaked, "Go, Thommy."

 _Is that Manu?_ Mesut mouthed. Jerome gave him a disbelieving look.

"Who the fuck else would it be?"

Thomas looked back at his boyfriend, his exhausted and ill boyfriend. Manu was facing away from those in the doorway, they could just see the outline of his large body in bed.

"I can't," Thomas said. "You're ill. I can't leave you."

"You can go out and have fun. I'm fine. I won't drop dead here. I'll just go to sleep."

"No," Thomas said firmly. "I wouldn't be able to enjoy myself. I'm sorry, guys, but I'm staying here."

Mats visibly deflated, but then he brightened up again.

"How about we don't go out at all?" he suggested. 

"Sounds like a fun night," Sami said dryly.

"Let me finish, Fickfehler," Mats said impatiently, although he had been the one to pause for dramatic effect and had brought the skepticism onto himself. "How about we don't go out, but buy a shit-ton of alcohol and just bring it to this room? That way  Mülli doesn't have to leave, he still gets to hang out and Manu can be involved too."

He beamed, evidently under the impression that his idea was without flaw. Mesut and Sami nodded, down for anything, Jerome shrugged, Benni sighed and Thomas looked back at his boyfriend, pretty certain that a  _no_ was incoming right that second-

"Sounds good."

Thomas did a double-take. He stared at Manu, who had groggily sat up in bed- none of the team could see his face due to the darkness of the room and the fact he wasn't looking at them, but his voice sounded quite calm. Benni blinked, Mesut and Sami grinned appreciatively, Jerome brightened up. Mats let out a whoop.

"Manu, are you sure?" Thomas said confusedly. "I can easily kick these idiots out, are you sure you feel okay for it-?"

"I feel fine for it," Manu said steadily. "I want to do it."

 _Manu wants to drink with his friends. He wants to interact._ Thomas found himself looking at Benni, who looked at him quizzically back.  _Maybe this could be a good thing. He's made a decision that he wants to be with others. He doesn't want to hide away from them._

"Well, okay," Thomas said finally, shrugging. "Bring on the regret. My hangover drink will cure it all, anyway."

"No it won't. That shit is disgusting," Mesut and Jerome said simultaneously. Then they looked at each other in delight and high-fived their synchronicity.

"Told you Manu was a party animal!" Mats said brightly. "Okay, Jerome and I will hit a store and be back with this evening's entertainment. Any requests?"

"I love a good bourbon," Mesut said wistfully.

"Absolutely not. Looks like it's down to us to decide. Okay, we're going to dip for a bit, see you guys later!" Mats said, punching Jerome in his excitement. "We're drinking and despairing again, Jeri, look more alive!"

"Mats!" Benni called, suddenly remembering something, as Jerome followed his defensive partner out of the room. "Mats, no fireworks!"

There was no response from Mats.

"Jeri, make sure he doesn't get fireworks!" Benni yelled. "You  _can't set off fireworks in a hotel room!_ Not again!"

"Again?" Mesut asked.

The two centre-backs ambled down the hotel hallway, where Kai was yelling from one of the rooms and Niklas could be heard singing something about Sebastian Rudy? And there was Marc-Andre yelling also, sounding very shocked. There was nobody lingering around outside, given Marco's absence, which meant that Fips wasn't on his usual prowl for mischief. 

Just as they thought they were safe, however, the right-back suddenly appeared out of thin air. Jerome and Mats froze as Fips left his hotel room, saying, "Goodbye, Goretzka, you're never going to see me again, the last memory you'll ever have of me will be clouded by the fact you were  _texting,_ _again-_ "

He paused in his tracks. The centrebacks stared at their captain, who stared at them back. They were all dressed as if they were going out, Fips wearing a large coat and a hat, presumably to hide his identity.

"Fips, what are you doing?" Jerome asked. "Where the hell are _you_ going?"

Fips gestured down the hallway. "There is a personal situation going on, so I have to meet somebody in Paris- nothing to worry about, though, it's just something to do with one of my acquaintances' business agreement. What about  _you_ two?"

"Oh, you know!" Mats said in a high-pitched voice. "We just needed to go and get some fresh air, Jeri's been feeling a bit pent-up, missing Robert, you know-"

"Yes absolutely right I miss my Robbi so much," Jerome said, actually managing to get tears to spring up into his eyes. "I just need to breathe, you know? Just need to feel the cool Paris air against my skin... To remind me of my Robbi's cool hands..."

Mats closed his eyes.

But Fips looked at them both and nodded. "I hope you feel better soon, Boateng. See you both tomorrow."

He turned away from them and set off down the hallway. Mats and Jerome stared after him, dumbfounded that this had actually worked. 

"Wow. He didn't cross-examine us one bit," Mats said in awe. "He really fell for our story! The cool hands bit was weird, but the fake tears were a nice touch, Jeri."

"They're not fake. I really do miss Rob with my whole heart."

"Well," Mats said, rolling his eyes. "You won't be missing him soon. Let's go and get that alcohol."

They crept out through the hotel car-park, but fortunately there was nobody else around to spot them. There was of course the matter of the paparazzi, who would be  _very_ interested as to why two members of the German National Team were sneaking around in the streets at night, but they managed to get through the whole process unscathed. The off-license owner didn't seem to recognise them at all when they turned up in the shop, despite some justified paranoia.

Their expedition went well- they returned without so much a flash in their direction, and plenty of clinking bottles. They kept an eye out for any other player who might spot the stash they were towing with them, but nobody was around. Pleased at how problem-free the endeavour had been, they strode into Manu's room feeling distinctly relaxed.

"We're back, bitches!" Mats said brightly. Mesut was showing the group a video of some Premier League player's shady exploits and Manu was sitting upright, looking terrible and blotchy but also pretty engaged. Thomas kept looking at him nervously. "Let's get shit-faced."

"Just like Wanyama. God, I thought the guy just liked spaghetti and feared Paranormal Activity 3, but he can really chug that shit down," Sami said.

"As can we," Mats said brightly. "Gather around, people, gather around- although, Manu, you don't have to, when I had the flu movement made me want to vomit, so I don't want to push you. Let's distribute the good stuff around and get despairing!"

There was an appreciative laugh, and Mats' enthusiasm was pretty infectious (and concerning), but Thomas couldn't stop himself from feeling worried. Manu didn't look well at all, yet here he was, drinking away...

His boyfriend noticed concerned eyes pointing in his direction, turned his head, saw Thomas staring at him and sighed. 

"Just drink and despair, Thommy," Manu said softly. "Just drink and despair."

So Thomas did. Although the practice had been labelled as such, however, there was very little despairing going on at the moment. Surprisingly, everoyne was laughing. They tipped vodka down their throats and started chattering good-naturedly. Even Jerome seemed to have grasped the fact that it was possible to have fun when Robert wasn't at his best. Being with his friends made him feel more relaxed. He cracked up laughing as Mats started re-enacting a scene from a couple of years ago- when Jerome had revealed to him that he liked Robert.

" _I got a major boner just seeing him walk in front of me, Mats, you don't understand!_ " Mats mimicked. Jerome looked horrified.

"Mats, shut up, oh my God, that's so embarrassing!" he wailed. "I never said that and that never happened!"

"Are you  _sure_ about that?" Sami cackled. "That seems like exactly the sort of thing that in-love you would have experienced. Maybe that's where your trauma of the  _sex_ word came from,  _that_ embarrassing sexual experience-"

"Ohhmmmmmf my God guys stop," Jerome moaned. "It's not true! Stop being so- so-"

"So  _lewd?_ " Mats said suggestively. Jerome nodded emphatically. "I'm sorry, Jeri, but trying to stop me from being lewd is like trying to stop me from being naturally charming-"

"Then why are you always lewd?" Mesut enquired.

"-but anyway, you don't need to feel embarrassed, Benni has been through the exact same experience as you. On that one humble Revierderby matchday-"

"Mats!" Benni yelled, as Jerome hid his face in Sami's bulky shoulder.

"What's wrong, Benedikt?" Mats asked innocently. "I'm just trying to show Jeri that sexuality isn't something to hide from, it's to be embraced-"

"You don't have to do it by lying!"

Manu spoke up suddenly, his voice hoarse, making everyone fall quiet. "Is it a lie, though, Benz? I remember a little text conversation from 2013-"

"Shut up, Manuel Neuer!" Benni cried, as Thomas rolled around laughing. "We don't talk about...  _those_ text messages! We don't talk about my worst decision ever made!"

The whole group looked around at each other. And then, one by one, they started reciting-

"Manuel!"

" _Manuel!"_

"That stupid obnoxious-faced Lüdenscheid-Nord centreback!" Mats sang.

Benni tried to hit Mats, but they ended up kissing instead. Jerome pointedly looked away, but the rest of them roared with laughter.

"Ah, those were the days," Thomas laughed. "Then there was the World Cup, where the precursor to Steno tried to pretend that they were sharing cultured discussion in their room-"

"Until Jeri walked in on them," Mesut said slyly.

Jerome just shook his head in mute horror. Mats looked totally unabashed.

"Those really were the days," Sami said. "Making fun of Schweini and Poldi-"

"Miro trying to pretend he was being stern about it, too, but then him joining in that bet about how much they would post on Instagram during the tournament," Thomas said wistfully. "Me and my multiple bets about various romantic partnerships..."

"All of which you lost," Manu put in. Thomas gave him a filthy look, and then for some reason gave Sami one too. "You expected to have two thousand euros to your name, but instead ended up in the hole at the end of it all."

"Yes,  _thank_ you, Manuel," Thomas said grumpily, but he was smiling all the same, because Manu was smiling too. "Oh well, we won the World Cup."

"We sure did," Mesut said thoughtfully. "What a night. Mario ending up in his suitcase-"

"Me and Jeri put him in there," Mats chimed in.

"Per carrying Fips on his back," Mesut continued. "And Fips yelling,  _WE GOT THERE, EVEN WITH THIS TEAM!_ "

"Me trying to get on Per's shoulders too and Per instantly collapsing," Manu said wistfully. "Meeting Rihanna. Standing in that podium with the trophy in our hands. Holding the Golden Glove."

"Seeing Miro raise the Cup. Holding it myself," Thomas said. Then he burst into tears.

"Mülli, what's wrong?" Jerome whispered, as Manu wrapped his arms around Thomas' shoulders. The second he saw Thomas crying he started crying too. The emotion was spreading.

"Nothing!" Thomas said a little hysterically, accepting the drink Benni offered him. "I'm just thinking... We've been through so much together, haven't we? We have so many memories. Es ist unglaublich. I remember talking to the interviewers with Basti, being that goofy idiot who laughed in front of the cameras, I remember being on those beaches and running in front of those crowds, I remember hugging Miro when he finally got his record... It's just incredible. These memories help to remind me of who I am, you know? These memories are who we all are."

He took hold of Manu's hand and squeezed it.  _It doesn't matter how depressed you feel, you're still Manu. Nothing will ever change that. You're still the Manu who led that kitchen operation all those years ago. You're the Manu who rode a two-person bike with me throughout the Brazilian countryside even though I lied to you and told you I had rented motorcycles for the day. You're the Manu who won the World Cup by my side. You're the Manu I love. No matter what's wrong with your head. You know that, right?_

"Yeah," Sami said fondly. "We've been on it for so long, haven't we? Since the days before Schweiniski. What a world."

"Every step of it has been great," Mats said. Then he started crying too. "And it'll continue to be great! We'll win another one! And even if we don't, even if we get old and have to retire and everyone moves on to admire the next generation, it doesn't matter. We've done it all before. We have all the memories of it. We've put our mark in history. And that's enough. I love you all."

"We love you too, Matsy. Football can move on, but we know where our roots are," Jerome whispered. "And we can move forwards and experience the beginning of a beautiful new age, too."

Sami was staring at Mesut. Mesut noticed him, smiled tenderly, and extended a hand to his friend. 

_Flowers, Berlinern, sweat in the Brazilian hills. Those memories won't ever go._

_And we can move forwards and experience the beginning of a beautiful new age, too._

The drink was making Sami's head hazy. But he took Mesut's hand.

Suddenly  _everyone_ was crying, even Benni, and they were all leaning on each other.

"You guys are my real family," Jerome slurred. "And Toni. My  _real_ brothers. And Rob is like, my husband."

"Nothing can get us down, we're World Cup winners! More importantly, we're best friends!" Thomas sobbed. "D'you hear that, Manu? Nothing can get us down! We're the same people! We'll always have that!"

"I want to make interceptions by your side forever!" Benni told Jerome and Mats tearfully. And then he turned to Manu. "I want to defend your goal forever! Even if you've moved on to another goal!"

Mesut and Sami looked at each other.

 _I want to make more memories, but I'm afraid you'll slip away,_ Sami wanted to say.

"Love you, Sam," Mesut said softly. Everyone else was crying and hugging and they didn't hear, except Jerome, who was watching the whole thing. "May nothing ever change."

"I love you, Mes," Sami whispered.

Mesut raised his drink. 

"To forever."

***

Benni woke up to the sound of sobbing.

For a moment his vision was blurred, and he felt strangely sick, his mind not really registering anything other than confusion. He wasn't in bed with Mats- he was lying on the floor, carpet rubbing against his cheek. He frowned, staring ahead for a few moments before trying to sit up. The crying continued.

The room was dark, save for the moonlight that streamed through the window. It was nighttime. The only thing Benni could see was the figure of Mats curled up near him, and was that Jerome lying under a bed? And then there were two people lying next to each other, fast asleep, hands just touching- it was Mesut and Sami.

Benni thought about taking a photo, but there were more pressing matters on his mind. Someone was still crying. He got shakily to his knees, and shuffled over to the bed. That was where the quiet, sad sounds were coming from.

The person crying was Manu.

Benni could see that he was still asleep, curled up into himself, his face contorted in his slumber. He looked frightened, and harassed, but also grippingly sad. Benni stared at the goalkeeper, whose face was a mask in matches, in public, and thought about all the times he had seen him looking so vulnerable in the past few years. There were few of them. This wasn't the Manu Benni had come to know after he had left Gelsenkirchen, the stone-cold sweeper-keeper- this was the Manu he had known all those years ago. The Manu before the weight of reputation strengthened his defences and rid him of any outward loss of composure, the Manu who had cried before training camp in Vienna because he didn't want to fail.

It was a sign of how much had been lost between them that Benni didn't recognise this Manu anymore. And that had been the first Manu he had come to know. Or was it a display of how strong Manu had become- or a display of just how much he had hidden?

"Manu," Benni said softly. He reached out a hand to take hold of the keeper's shoulder. "Manu, wake up. You're okay."

Manu didn't react at first. He kept on crying in his sleep.

"Manu," Benni repeated. "It's me. Benz. Thomas is right next to you. The guys are here too. You're okay."

He shook Manu ever so slightly.  Manu's eyes flickered open slowly, the blue clouded by droplets of water. 

"Benz?" he whispered. 

"Mercedes," Benni murmured.

Manu stared at him. "Jesus, Benz."

He started to cry. Benni shuffled awkwardly forwards on his knees and offered the man a hug- Manu accepted it.

"You were all gone," Manu whispered tearfully, as Benni slowly rubbed a circle against Manu's back, clockwise then anticlockwise. Thomas was still asleep. "All of you. It was just me. Just me and my own goddamn head."

"It wasn't real," Benni said quietly. "We're right here. Thomas is right next to you. I'm right in front of you."

"You are," Manu laughed wetly. "You're in front of me, Benz." 

"That's right," Benni said determinedly. "And I'm never going to leave you again."

Manu gave a little sob. "I thought you would. If you found out how much worse of a nutjob I've become."

"I'm not leaving. I'm staying with you and Thomas and I'm going to help you," Benni said calmly. "You're no nutjob. You're the same man you've always been. You've just got a problem, and we're going to help you with it."

Manu laughed again. "I don't think anyone can."

This made Benni's heart constrict, but he also wasn't going to accept it. He and Manu had dragged Schalke by the hair up the table throughout their seasons together, throughout every round and knockout stage of the DFB Cup- hell, they had dragged  _each other_  forwardsby the hair when the going got tough for both of them. If he had to do it now, he would.

"You'd be wrong. Mülli would drag himself to the depths of hell to find a way. I would too. And I know it's not that easy, I know nothing can be assured, but you've got to have the hope, no?"

"Vielleicht," Manu murmured. "Vielleicht."

"I'm so sorry, Manu," Benni said, and he started to cry himself. "I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you. I know you have Thomas, but you should've had me too. You should have so many people by your side. You shouldn't have to deal with this in silence."

"Hey, it's not your fault, Benz," Manu whispered, as Benni brushed away his tears. "It's just how the world works."

 _But it doesn't have to be,_ Benni thought.  _It doesn't have to be._

"I don't have to be silent anymore, though," Manu mumbled. "I have Thommy. I have Miro. I have the therapist. And now I have you."

"That's right," Benni said. "You have us. And we'll get you through this. Kapitän."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gut? schlecht? ok?
> 
> obviously i needed a nostalgic scene with the players of the golden age- thommy, jerome, mats, sami, mesut, benni and manu. because the way their international careers may be ending (benni's is already over) is so unceremonious i needed a bit of emotional closure and them all interacting.
> 
> leon and serge's storyline is giving me toothache its so cute to write serge is such a lame idiot in this fic and i love him
> 
> i need to ask- lacey, ellie (shipcircle) are you okay??? are you just incredibly busy and unable to comment on this dumb shit (which is totally understandable)? i hope you're busy succeeding in life and living ur best life and that nothing has happened :/
> 
> nobody:  
> miroslav klose: http://www.tomnash.eu/gomez-button.html


	66. Chapter 66

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 21!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry this has taken so long to get out, my god ive been so busy/distracted erheiguhiegt
> 
> some outdated rambling about the UCL:
> 
> honestly, nobody ever expected us to win the champions league this year. we got the hardest tie of all the round of 16 games and either way a major european club was going out that night. we're in huge transition while liverpool is enjoying their resurgence. it was bound to happen. so i'm not quite as upset as i would normally be- i just feel kind of empty. i'm sure with joshua, thomas and arjen it would have been a different game, especially if that stonewall pen had actually been called. but oh well. even though this is the worst side we've had in recent years, we're still on track for the domestic double. that's impressive. i'm just fucking gutted that likely the last champions league game arjen robben will ever play will be the 5-1 vs benfica. same with ribz. *sigh* that second half was so bad
> 
> at least we're not madrid to be fair. those guys have nothing to play for. we still have a lot to win. and there's always next year for the champions league! i'm just strongly disappointed the bundesliga has put up such a poor show, dortmund schalke and bayern just haven't given our league a good rep. but still the idiots who think 50+1 should be gotten rid of (yeah restructuring the whole league after one off year, perfect) need to shut up. AUF GEHT'S FRANKFURT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> who do i want to win now? i have a feeling juve are going to edge it because rolando is rolando. i guess i could maybe live with it, even though rolando will get praise and i hate that. i'll back city i guess. 
> 
> anyway great game vs mainz! 6-0, just shows the effect thomas has, jesus fucking christ. jeri was great, james was great, leon was great, davies got his first goal, just on incredible league form at the moment.
> 
> ok read the chapter ignore my rambling

"What's going on in here?" Julian had finally given up waiting for Kai to retrieve his portable charger and had returned to the room, looking puzzled. "Have you stopped talking to Giroud, Bernd?"

He stopped in the doorway, seeing Kai's splayed out form on the bed and Bernd's white face. 

"What the hell-?" Julian looked to Bernd for an explanation, but received none. "Has he  _fainted?_ "

The once energetic pile of human limbs shifted on the bed and made a pained noise. "I  _nearly_ fainted, Jule. I'm barely hanging onto consciousness. I've just been hit bodily in the face."

"What- Bernd  _hit_ you?" Julian said in alarm. Kai stirred into motion at this.

"No, no, it was metaphorical, don't worry, Jule!" he said hastily. "I've been hit  _metaphorically._ Right in the brain. My entire body has shut down. That's why I'm lying here. I can't move. I can't raise my head. I can't look anybody in the eyes again."

Julian gave Bernd another forceful look. "What in the damn hell is going on here? Kai, sit your ass up and tell me what's happened right this second. Or you, Leno,  _you_ tell me what the fuck is happening."

Bernd remained deathly silent.

"I can't listen to you, Jule, I'm sorry," Kai moaned. "I don't know if it's really you standing there. I don't know if I'm living in a dream right now or if this is stone-cold reality. I can't trust the evidence of my senses. Bosz always tells me I live with my head in the clouds, maybe he's right. Or maybe I've been drugged. Maybe my protein shake really had a hallucinogen in it-"

He continued rambling on in this vein. Julian was starting to get frustrated by how useless Bernd was being, just standing there limply.

"Kai, if this is something stupid, like the time you screamed in training and it turned out you had gotten Jonathan-"

"Jule, please!" Kai cried, and Julian smirked, knowing that mentioning the  _incident_ would get him to snap. "I want to answer your questions, I really do! But first I have to establish something. Can you go over to Bernd Leno and ask him if he's real?"

"Why do I have to-"

"It's important to me!" Kai yelled. "I can't proceed any further with talking until I've established that the person standing in that corner of the room-"

He pointed vaguely in the direction opposite to where Bernd actually was.

"- is actually my good friend and big bro, and not an impostor!"

"Jesus Christ. Bernd, are you real?" Julian demanded impatiently of Bernd, fed up of the theatrics.

"I wish I wasn't," the man in question said wearily.

"There. It's Bernd," Julian said, blowing out an aggrieved gust of air. "Now, Kai, are you going to tell me or am I going to tell everyone what Bosz-"

"Ask him  _yourself!_ " Kai said weakly. "Ask him yourself. For I don't think I can trust my own words, I clearly knew so little about my bro in the first place. I thought I had a pretty good grip on him. For example, I know that he dislikes bienenstich. I know that because I gave him some once out of the kindness of my own heart, and he ended up going to hospital because he was allergic to almonds and Bosz yelled at me because he had to miss the next game. But, who's to say he  _really_ dislikes bienenstich? Maybe he's just an elaborate actor who faked going into anaphylactic shock, having us all  _fooled_ for ages, making me have to check the ingredients any of food item I offered to share with him to make sure there weren't any almonds in them. Maybe he secretly  _loves_ bienenstich, but pretends not to because bienenstich is a very fattening pastry and isn't good for form! Maybe one day I'll walk in on him telling Olivier Giroud that he's been eating bienenstich all throughout the international break so far, going against all we ever believed about him!"

Bernd thought Julian was going to start yelling at Kai for not getting to the point, but instead the man did something quite different- he let out a cry of shock.

"You're fucking Marc-Andre!" he yelled, pointing at Bernd.

"What?" Bernd cried, as Kai's hand came up to point accusingly too. "How the hell- he was talking about my anaphylactic shock, he didn't mention Marc-Andre's name once!"

"I used an analogy!" Kai yelled. "Bienenstich is Marc-Andre! I just walked in on you telling Olivier Giroud that you've been fucking Marc-Andre!"

" _WHAT?_ " Julian shouted.

"Oh my God!" Bernd held his hands up to try and calm the tide of chaos that was about to hit him, but he wasn't successful. "Just calm down, I can explain everything-"

" _I don't think you can!_ " Julian yelled. "You'll have to explain how every aspect of your personality has somehow changed, can you manage that?"

"What else are you hiding, Bernd?" Kai demanded. "What else are you  _lying_ about?"

"HE'S PROBABLY SECRETLY FUCKING BOSZ!" Julian looked beside himself. Of course, he had always known that Bernd's vehement declarations of hatred against Marc-Andre were a mask for something else, but discovering that after all these years they were suddenly fucking had thrown him thoroughly off-kilter. "ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT AFTER ALL THE YEARS OF YOUR FUCKING WHINING-"

"And my broken nose during the September international break last year, when you kicked the ball right into my face when I asked you how you felt about Marc-Andre being in the squad!" Kai added.

"That was an accident!" Bernd protested.

"- AFTER ALL YOUR BITCHING AND MOANING- _OH, I HATE HIM, I HATE MARC-ANDRE SOOOO MUCH,_ _HE'S MY WORST ENEMY, HE SUCKS THE LIFE OUT OF MY SOUL-_ ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT AFTER ALL OF THAT, YOU ENDED UP FUCKING JUST LIKE THAT?"

"Jule-"

"WHAT IN THE  _FUCK!_ " Julian finished his rant, shaking his fist. "YOU'D BETTER TELL US  _EVERYTHING!_ "

"I was going to!" Bernd tried to say, but Kai immediately shouted him down.

"No you weren't! You were going to keep it hidden from us until your dying day! I can't believe you lied to me so blatantly! I was  _worried_ about you! I was thinking of willingly giving up rooming with Jule just because I thought you hated Marc-Andre that much!" This seemed to be the most appalling crime of them all to Kai, who had to cover his face with his hand as if too horrified to look at Bernd.

"Look," Bernd said, trying to placate his two former club teammates (though, _as_ they were his two former club teammates, he knew that it was going to be difficult). "I get that you guys might be mad, given... history-"

"Too much history!"

Bernd sighed. "Yeah. Too much history. You're right. Look, I know you're mad, and confused, and want an explanation from me."

Julian and Kai nodded vigorously. But Bernd didn't continue speaking.

Upon their furious looks, he shrugged. "That's it. I know you're mad, and confused, and want an explanation from me."

"Oh, come on!" Kai yelled.

" _GIVE US THAT EXPLANATION!_ "

"Okay, okay!" Bernd held up his hands defensively. "Jesus, guys,  _relax._ I'm going to tell you right now. But look, can I get a drink, first? I need a drink to explain this all properly. A whisky, Jule."

"What, d'you think we just carry arround whisky with us- oh, Jule carries around whisky with him," Kai said, as Jule stormed over to his suitcase to pull out the appropriate bottle. "Okay then. Can I have some too? My shock needs to be soothed too-"

Bernd gave Kai a stern look. "Fuck, no. You can't have any. This is just for me."

"You're not my  _dad,_ I can have whisky if I want, I'm nineteen-" Kai said petulantly, but then he was cowed by Bernd's expression. "It's not fair. I've been legally allowed to drink alcohol for three years, but nobody lets me."

" _You_ don't need fucking alcohol, Jesus Christ," Julian said irritably, handling the whisky. "You're hard enough to control when completely sober, let alone drunk."

"I've been drunk before, Jule. _And_ I'm not a lightweight. And I'm not some sort of crazy drunk, I just make some... ill-advised decisions. I may have once accidentally come out as a massive gay in front of a massive _homophobe_ who kissed me during my Abschlussball, which she screamed at me about and threatened to leak to the press, which was really scary, but you know what? She forgot all about it the next day anyway, so really, nothing bad has ever come out of me drinking."

Bernd and Julian were both staring at Kai.

"Okay, honey, we'll talk about that little... anecdote later," Julian said, mildly troubled. Kai shrugged. "But my point stands. You are not drinking anything. Bernd, take your fucking drink and GET! TO! EXPLAINING!"

He handed Bernd a glass of whisky, almost spilling it because he was so aggravated. Bernd gratefully took it and took a long drink, before sighing.

"Okay, you got me," he said. "Me and Marc-Andre are fucking. Actually, it's more layered than that. It's not just a... sex relationship. It's a relationship... involving emotions and shit. Yeah, I know,  _emotions._ Jesus Christ, what have I become."

Julian poured himself a drink too. Kai watched sullenly, before realising he had something more important to worry about.

"How did it happen?" the boy asked. "I just don't understand it! You've complained about him throughout all the time I've known you. What changed? Were  _you_ drunk?"

Bernd laughed softly. "Not as much as I expected I would be." 

"How did it happen?" Julian repeated. "When did it happen?"

"Before the international break," Bernd murmured. "Just before. I bought a ticket and I flew to Barcelona, and I confessed to him that I loved him. Well, after a fashion."

"So you... just turned up to Barcelona?" Kai asked in a hushed voice. "You just decided one day,  _you know what, I need to go to Barcelona and tell the person I've been raging at and insulting for a decade that I love them?_ That was your thought process?"

It sounded like a disbelieving question, but honestly, given Kai's character, it could have also been a genuine one- so Bernd decided to answer seriously.

"Well, no, there was some other stuff in the way. As per usual, I was pretty fucking furious at him throughout the entirety of the first international break. You know, with all the,  _him stealing my dream from me, everybody loving him, me being a nobody_ shtick. Seeing him in Russia parrying fucking penalties with the commentators screaming,  _TER STEGEN IST SUPER, FANTASTISCH, TER STEGEN ,_ didn't exactly make me feel more rosy. I started ignoring him."

"Fucking hell, that was what he was complaining about at the end of the first break," Julian said in realisation. "He was whining like a little bitch because you were ghosting him."

Bernd shrugged. "He definitely wasn't too happy about it. He texted me saying all sorts of stuff, saying I was a child, and that he couldn't believe that I wasn't talking to him straight like an adult. Everyone else started getting on my case too, asking me why I was ignoring him. I didn't get why they were all jumping down my throat. I thought they would think it was expected of me- I thought they thought I  _hated_ Marc-Andre, so I didn't understand what the big deal was with me not texting him back. Why should I have texted him? He was my  _rival._

"It was Lukas who drilled it in my head. He really let loose and yelled at me. He asked me why I was trying to ruin a potentially healthy relationship by being so cold. About why I was letting my jealousy and bitterness cloud the good moments I had with Marc-Andre. And I'll admit it, there _were_ good moments."

Bernd sighed, taking a long drink of his whisky. Kai watched him in fascination, Julian with narrowed eyes.

"He basically told me I should try and mend my relationship with Marc-Andre until it was too late. After all, we live far apart, I'm barely in the national squad, we barely have any time together. And all the time we do spend together is spent competing. There could have been a moment where I lost him forever and that would have been that. We would have parted on awful terms. 

"And that would have been shit. I know I've complained about him since my first breath, but I  _did_ have fun talking to him, sometimes. Even when I was mocking him. He was funny, in a goofy way. Sometimes, when we were too tired to argue, we could have civilised conversation, and it would be  _nice_ conversation. We laughed together. And even though we fought viciously sometimes, and I broke things because I thought he was taking my dreams away from me, I felt another stab of bitterness inside of me. The reason I felt so strongly about it all, the reason why I couldn't just hate him without feeling a layer of unease, was because... I  _liked_ him at the same time. That was what made it all worse. 

"Lukas talking to me made me realise I had to do something. Also, fucking Mesami made me realise it too. Jesus, what if we ended up like them, potentially missing out on so much? I threw away all my doubts in a moment and fucking seized that goddamn day. I called Marc-Andre and told him I needed to talk to him. I told him I was flying to Barcelona, so we could get it all out. Yeah, he agreed to it. Mad bastard.  _My_ mad bastard." 

Bernd laughed, covering his face with his hand.

"I went to Barcelona. And we talked. Maybe not as much as we should have done, but we talked, properly, for the first time. In that moment I knew I had to forget everything else. I was going to take the opportunity to be with him, no matter how much bitterness there still was. I thought we could make it work, because we... loved each other. Apparently he agreed. Because then... we ended up fucking."

Bernd finished off his whisky. Kai and Julian, who had been held somewhat spellbound by Bernd's explanation of the bullshit that had spanned a decade, both looked furious.

"Come on, Bernd, you were doing so well! It was so romantic and deep!" Kai protested. 

"What do you want me to do?" Bernd said, shrugging. "That's what we did. We fucked. And everything before that was the timeline leading up to the Fuck."

"Stop calling it the Fuck!"

"Fine. I'll call it the Big Fuck."

"Do  _not-_ "

"There's more important things than the name of Bernd's fucking experience with Marc-Andre!" Julian interjected. "Jesus Christ, Bernd. I mean, all of this makes sense, it does- God, I can't believe I'm saying that. None of this shocks me, other than the fact you deadass flew to Barcelona to fuck Marc-Andre-"

"He also acknowledged his feelings and got over a decade of deep-rooted issues, it wasn't just about the sex!" Kai said.

"Eh, I wouldn't say I've gotten over the deep-rooted issues yet. It was pretty much the sex," Bernd said. Kai wailed in despair.

"You really rushed into this shit, didn't you, Bernd?" Julian said. "Just before the international break. Jesus Christ. That's why you've been so fucking weird this whole time. You and ter Stegen, God, ter Stegen is so blatantly obvious, in hindsight-"

"But you never realised this shit, so he's not that bad," Bernd said, shrugging. 

" _How_ have you kept it hidden?" Kai said. There was a note of hurt in his voice. "How could you have kept it hidden from me? I would've totally been on your side. I would've taken your secret to my grave."

"It was difficult to explain," Bernd said helplessly. "I broke your damn nose because of ter Stegen last year, how was I going to be able to explain why I was suddenly fucking him in the space of a couple of damn weeks now?"

"Does anybody else know?" Julian asked curiously.

"Mesami know," Bernd said, scowling. "By virtue of Mesut being at the same club as me, and Sami knowing everything Mesut does. Lukas obviously knows. Basti must know by now. Leroy knows, because he's Marc-Andre's friend. And... Marco knows."

" _What?_ " Julian demanded. " _Marco_ knows?"

"Yeah, that's a long story. But funnily enough, he's not going to say anything anytime soon. He's a sound guy."

"Do you have his nudes or something?" Julian asked in wonder. " _Marco_ knows, and the rest of the squad doesn't?"

"Mmmhmm."

Kai looked even more hurt, but he looked pointedly away from Bernd so Bernd wouldn't see it. Naturally, Bernd noticed him straight away and rolled his eyes.

"Kai, come here," he sighed, opening his arms to the boy. Kai looked at him sullenly and looked like he didn't want to move, but at Bernd's arched eyebrow he shuffled forwards into the hug. "I am very very sorry I didn't tell you before. And I'm sorry I haven't been paying attention to you as much. But this shit has been complicated as hell, as you now know, and I've barely been able to keep my head on straight. It's nothing to do with you."

"It's okay, Bernd," Kai mumbled. "You're right, this is complicated as hell. I wouldn't have expected you to be able to explain it to some nineteen year old kid, you've been super wrapped up in it all."

"Hey, no," Bernd said. "You've taken it better than the fucking thirty year old Mesut has. I know you're not going to say anything about it. And I know you're not questioning me as much as you want to because you respect the fact that it's difficult for me to wrap my own head around, let alone yours."

Kai shrugged and mumbled something else indistinct, as Julian smiled slightly in the background.

"Don't hold back, kid," Bernd said fondly. "You can ask me anything you want about the Big Fuck. You're my best friend. I'll tell you everything."

***

Toni was watching the Mavericks game, which, due to scheduling reasons, was being held in the Allianz Arena, when his son came flying into the room, calling his name. For a moment Toni was too absorbed in watching LaMarcus Aldridge playing at point guard to pay attention to his little boy, but when Leon climbed onto his knees and yelled, "PAPA!" he finally let his eyes travel downwards.

"Yes, little lion?" he said absently, patting Leon's head. Leon was pulling his hand. 

"I need to show you something!" Leon demanded of him. "Come, Papa, come!"

Toni hesitated. "But the game is on, little one-"

"It's important!" Leon protested. " _Please,_ pretty please, come and see!" 

Toni sighed, looking mournfully at the game- Mats had just been subbed on for the Mavericks, as they had no other player available to replace Powell. The centreback had just stepped out of the crowd, wearing one of the Bayern basketball tops.

 _He'll be fine,_ Toni thought. He let Leon lead him by the hand from the room and down to the basement. His son was vibrating with excitement, ominously so- Toni wondered vaguely what had gotten him in such a state.

He found his answer a second later. The door of the basement flew open and Toni was greeted with the sight of-

" _Müller._ " Toni was full of shock. "What is going  _on,_ here?"

Thomas Müller grinned at Toni, as Leon ran up to the Bavarian forward- who was sitting behind a  _drum kit._

"My dear Toni," Thomas said softly. "You thought you could get one over me? You think you could steal my lederhosen, and not receive my retribution? Poor bastard."

He was holding a pair of drumsticks. Toni's eyes widened in abject horror as Leon took them from Thomas, beaming from cheek to cheek.

"Müller," Toni said pleadingly. "Let's not be hasty, now. I can give you your lederhosen back-"

"It's been tainted by the touch of a Real Madrid player. It can never be worn again," Thomas said, shaking his head. "You must pay."

He took Leon onto his lap. 

"Let's show your Papa your great new gift, Leon, eh?" he said cheerfully to the little boy, who looked thrilled.

"Papa, listen!" Leon cried. He raised his drumsticks over a cymbal-

Toni awoke with a start, fresh horror coursing through his veins. After thinking for a moment,  _Jess is going to eviscerate me,_ he realised that there was in fact no vengeful Thomas or Leon with a death machine of noise- he was in bed, safe and sound in his  _quiet_ hotel room.

He should have known it was a nightmare. _Aldridge_ , playing at _point guard_ for the _Mavs_? That was on par with Marco being the leading forward at Schalke. Toni shuddered, knowing that he had just seen something dark and dangerous. As well as this disgusting sight, the imprint of Leon holding drumsticks above a cymbal, about to unleash hell on his ears, remained branded into his head. Fucking Thomas. It was entirely likely the man would do something like that one day.

In a second, in the perplexing way common to all vaguely bizarre dreams, Toni forgot what he had just seen and was now consumed by a greater concern. He sat up in his bed and looked up to the bed nearby.

Jonas was sprawled out on his bed, his hands tangled in his pillowcase, his expression vaguely troubled as he slept. He had earphones in his ears and his bedcovers had been kicked off of his bed- which was understandable, as it was overly warm in the room, with dazzling sunlight pouring in through the windows. Toni thought to himself,  _he doesn't even get peace when he's asleep, and he barely gets to do that in the first place. Poor bastard._

Jonas had disappeared for a long time yesterday. After training had ended Toni had waited for him in his room, sure that Jonas should have been finished with the physiotherapist- but the man hadn't turned up. Toni had left his room to ask his teammates if they had seen him (he had asked Niklas, Julian Draxler and Joshua, given that they prioritised Jonas' safety over anyone else's) but they hadn't seen him either. Just as the three players had been prepared to set up a search party with Toni and scour every end of the hotel, however, Jonas had appeared in the corridor, looking weary and confused. 

_"Jonas, what the hell?" Toni said, startled by the left-back's sudden appearance. "Where have you been? Are you okay?"_

_"Jonas, sweetie, we were genuinely about to assemble the whole squad to look for you," Joshua said worriedly. "You look beat-up, what happened?"_

_Niklas cracked his knuckles menacingly. "Do we have to fight anybody?"_

_"We would die for you, Jonas," Julian said simply. "Tell us what you need."_

_Jonas looked at all three of them, clearly struggling to think of a response. He had red patches on his cheeks and looked windswept- it looked like he had been outside._

_"I'm- I'm really sorry," he said softly, after a long period of hesitation- the expectant eyes on him seemed to be making him even more anxious. "I didn't mean to worry you. I just... I just needed to... I needed to go out for a bit... I'm sorry, I know I didn't ask or, tell anyone, but- but I just-"_

_He didn't seem to be able to continue, he was seemingly panicking. Toni stepped in._

_"Jonas," he said firmly. "You don't need to explain yourself to us. You're a grown man, you can go out if you need to, you don't need to ask. Don't worry about it. Just... Just try and let us know where you are, so we don't get worried. And then you can do what you like, as long as you stay safe."_

_"I'm so sorry." Jonas looked really nervous. "I should've- I should've said something. I know I should have. I just- I forgot- which was really stupid of me-"_

_"It's fine, hon," Joshua said kindly. "I'd like to forget about this team sometimes too."_

_"I try my level best to," Niklas agreed._

_Jonas' smile was strained._

There had definitely been something wrong with him, but Toni really wasn't the type to press people if they didn't want to talk. Even with Jerome as a best friend, he knew that being open was often difficult. And for someone like Jonas, who was very shy and intensely reserved anyway, it would be expecting too much to expect him to open up and talk just like that. Toni knew that he would've wanted to be left alone if he was in the same position.

The vague protective instinct inside of Toni confused him. He had never felt the need to get too close to his teammates, other than Jerome and Thomas and Sami, but now here he was worrying hard over Jonas. He bit his lower lip, as the left-back stirred in his sleep and turned over in his bed, muttering something in his slumber.

" _Alex, das ist nicht wahr,_ " Jonas mumbled. " _Es ist nicht wahr._ "

Toni frowned at him, wondering what he was dreaming about. Then he sighed. It was no good overthinking, if Jonas wanted to talk to him he could do it in his own time, he needed to open up of his own volition. But also, Toni had to be there for Jonas, to show the left-back that he was available for support. He needed to be understanding.

 _Jesus, Jeri has gotten so far into your head,_ he thought in horror to himself. That was the kind of shit Robert and Jerome spouted in their sleep, about being  _there_ for people, about being  _available for support,_ about being fucking  _understanding._

It was time to get back to his own roots. He picked up his phone, planning to watch the replay of the Mavs game he had missed last night- the  _real_ Mavs game. He saw the messages Jerome had sent him, many of them drunken and affectionate, along with some shots of Mesut and Sami sleeping next to each other and very unflattering images of Mats. He laughed and tapped out a response, and then went to watch the replay. But of course, his gaze kept on flickering to the troubled looking Jonas as he did so.

***

Waking up brought headaches for all but one of the Drink and Despair players that morning. Jerome, still standing by his reputation of having never been hungover in his life, sat upright with relative swiftness before anyone else, already on his phone.

"Too bright," Mats moaned, as Jerome's screen flashed on. "Kill light. Darkness only."

"I'm not killing my boyfriend," Jerome said idly. "You bring enough darkness, you'll survive."

He smiled as he saw a couple of good morning messages from Robert, and quickly shot off a picture of the passed out Germany team members to him. He then sent a zoomed in picture of the sleeping Mesami to Toni. Then he went to his conversation with Leroy, to see if the winger had sent him any explanation as to his hurried exit from the hotel yesterday night. There was nothing. Leroy's status was  _do not disturb._

"Damn," Jerome muttered. "Leroy really is leaving me in the dark, huh?"

Benni, Leroy's former captain when he had been at Schalke, rolled over from where he had been lying by Mats and shielded his face with his arm as if the phone light from Jerome's screen was a supernova.

"Leroy didn't say anything to you about his 'personal issue'?" Benni enquired. 

"No. He just gathered up his shit and rocketed out of the door at top speed. I hope he hasn't had a bereavement or anything, that would be horrible," Jerome said earnestly. "But to be honest, he didn't look sad or anything, he just looked panicked and also excited? So I think he's fine."

"Maybe it's something to do with Marc-Andre," Mesut muttered, having woken up too because of the talking. 

"Why would he take his bags with him and leave the hotel if it's something to do with Marc-Andre?" Jerome asked.

Mesut lay flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

And then he shrugged. "I don't know, my brain isn't working."

"A long-term problem for you, it seems," Benni murmured. "I think he'll be alright. If it was something serious, someone would have come and informed us by now."

"True," Jerome said. "True. I just wonder what's up with him."

Mats pulled Benni close to him as the Schalke player tried to sit up too. "Guys... have you ever considered that we really don't know that much about Leroy?"

"Who would want to know about him?" Mesut said tiredly.

"Case in point," Mats yawned. "We just shade him all the time. Relentlessly. But we don't really know much about his personal life, do we?"

"We're all so fucking absorbed with our own lives and tea," Jerome admitted. "But we don't do it to be mean. I mean, I love the guy. He's funny and he's a lot cooler than he was when he started off. He's changed a _lot._ "

Leroy's famous attitude problems had caused some bristling upon his arrival in the national team- being so talented _and_ a player at City had made the young Leroy's head a little hot when he had started off. The team all knew that he was a fundamentally good person, but like a lot of players, success and talent had gotten to his head at first- he had often seemed indifferent, or even arrogant. He was young, though, and young people often made stupid mistakes and acted wilfully- so the team had initially started their roasting campaign to get him down to earth, not out of any spite. Now Leroy, at twenty two, was more mature, though the team still always made fun of that goddamn back tattoo.

"He's definitely different from what he was like back in Schalke," Benni said. "Maybe we should stop mindlessly roasting him and pay attention to him more."

"Come on, it's Leroy. We can't stop making fun of Leroy," Mats said.

"You were the one who pointed out that we don't know that much about him-"

"Doesn't mean I think we should stop roasting him."

"Definitely not," Mesut agreed. "I wouldn't be able to manage it. Roasting him is my therapy when he wins the league by one hundred fucking points."

There was a sudden loud, strangled noise of despair from the bed, where Thomas was lying with Manu. Thomas had woken up, although Manu seemed still very much asleep. Benni and Jerome exchanged amused looks at Thomas' theatrical moan. 

"What the  _fuck_ happened last night?" the midfielder groaned. "My brain fucking  _hurts._ "

"I actually don't remember that much, I just remember drinking and embarrassing Benni. And crying," Mats said. 

Benni glanced over to Manu's sleeping form and then away again.

"I don't remember anything at all," Mesut said. 

"Pity," Mats said, looking at the still asleep Sami. 

Jerome suddenly let out a loud gasp, remembering what he had seen last night.  _Mesami_ saying  _I love you._ Even if it probably wasn't intended romantically, it still  _had_ been romantic. Jesus Christ. Everyone looked at him in confusion. Blushing furiously at the sudden attention on him, he waved his phone about and yelled, "Oh- it's just- Robert-"

"Sent you a dickpic. Say no more. Please," Mats filled in for him with a sigh. Jerome squawked in protest, but was also glad of an excuse to instantly return to his messages with Robert, typing wildly. Mats hit his head on the floor. "God, that Drink and Despair was fun at the time, but now I'm totally regretting it. My head is a bitch right now. Fips' gonna know I'm hungover straight away, and he's gonna kill me."

"Hangover drink!" Thomas announced. "It'll cure everything. Robert told me to add Kefir to it to really give it a punch."

"Dear God, somehow you've found a way to make it worse." 

Benni sat upright, pushing Mats' hands off of him. "Speaking of Fips, we should get back into our rooms, no? Before Fips comes knocking on our doors trying to find us and finds us all gathered here, hungover as fuck."

"We saw Fips leaving the hotel yesterday too," Mats recalled. "Said he had some business agreement or something to deal with. D'you think he'll be back by now?"

"Of course, he's not going to miss training," Benni said. "We should go. And leave Manu and Thomas alone too."

Thomas shrugged. "You can stay for a bit if you want."

"No, we'll get out of your hair," Benni said decisively, standing up. "We've got to get ourselves ready for training too, Jesus Christ. I have a personal session with Shad later on today too, he's going to kill me if he realises why I'm so sluggish. Maybe we should've done this Drink and Despair _after_ the France game. Ugh. Anyway, c'mon, everyone."

Jerome got up too, still absorbed in his phone. Mats was dragged to his feet by Benni. Mesut gave the sleeping Sami a little shake- and an angry grumble sounded from him.

"Kill me," the Juventus midfielder groaned, lying flat on the floor. "Just obliterate me. Please."

"That's the spirit of Drink and Despair. C'mon, Sami, up you get," Benni said, nudging Sami's senseless form with his foot. "Let's leave Thomas and Manu alone now, we've been here long enough."

"I'll clear up the bottles," Mats assured Thomas, who was rubbing his eyes blearily, looking down at the still-asleep Manu. "I'm an expert at hiding things that I shouldn't have."

Benni gave Mats a suspicious look. " _Are_ you, now?"

Mats became very preoccupied with gathering up the empty alcohol bottles.

Still grumbling and moaning, Mesut helped Sami sit upright. Jerome gave Sami a fleeting glance that the midfielder didn't notice. The centre back could barely contain himself.

Once Mats had all the bottles, having hit Jerome for texting instead of helping, the party of the hungover were set to leave. Manu was still asleep.

"It was fun, Mülli," Mats said cheerfully. "Thanks for joining us. I hope Manu feels a little better after all this, although drinking may not have been the best thing for his flu. See you at training, big man. Love you, bro."

"Love you too, Matsy. I love all of you guys," Thomas said fondly. He gave everyone a quick hug, but when he reached Benni, the hug lasted a lot longer. 

"Tell Manu I hope he feels better," Benni said bashfully, when the two of them broke apart, Thomas smiling widely and genuinely at the 'bitter' Schalke man.  Benni looked over at the unmoving goalkeeper then looked away, turning to leave the room.

"Thank you, Benni," Thomas said. "Thanks to all of you. Get yourselves fixed up before training, you all look like shit. I'll sneak into the kitchen and fix up the hangover drink."

"Absolutely not," Jerome said. "If it's got Kefir in it then you're condemning them all to throwing up for the entire session. It's absolutely disgusting and anyone who drinks it is disgusting."

"I'm telling Robert you said that," Thomas said teasingly, as Benni ushered everyone outside, Sami complaining loudly.

"Oh, he knows," Jerome said. Benni tipped Thomas a wink as he closed the door behind him. 

Thomas was left standing alone in front of the closed door, smiling to himself. Some memories were coming back now, although they were vaguely patchy. Laughing with Manu, crying with the guys, reminiscing about the good old days... It had been a good night, last night. The vivid image of Manu smiling brightly at him was imprinted in Thomas' mind and he felt inexplicably giddy.

There was a sound of shuffling from the bed. Thomas turned his head in surprise and was pleased to see that Manu was sitting upright. He had one hand resting against his forehead and his elbow was resting on his knee. He was staring down at the bedsheets.

"Manu! You're up, just as they all left. Sorry if they were making noise," Thomas said softly. 

Manu shook his head mutely. "Was awake all that time."

"Oh," Thomas said. "Right." 

There was a moment of silence. Manu was rubbing his head with his hand.

"Did you at least sleep well?" Thomas whispered. "Did you have a dream, last night?"

Manu nodded shakily. "I had a dream. It was scary, and it was lonely. But when I woke up Benni was there to comfort me. He knows, Thommy. He knows that I'm still having nightmares. That I'm dealing with this shit."

Thomas looked warily at Manu. "He wants to help, Manu. He still cares about you."

"Yeah, I know." Manu's hand had moved to his eyes.

"That's good, then, right? You know Benni wants the best for you. He can help you, he can help us," Thomas said. "And you two can become close again."

Manu didn't really react to this.

"But, Manu," Thomas said quickly, to cover up the silence. "How... how are you feeling now, baby? Did you enjoy last night? How are you this morning?"

Manu was still rubbing his eyes. He didn't say anything and Thomas didn't push him, but he felt like he was suspended, waiting for Manu to speak before he could move another muscle. Finally, Manu removed his hand from his eyes and looked at Thomas directly.

"Bad," was all he said.

Thomas inhaled.

"Not even a little better?" he asked gently, almost desperate to hear a positive answer.

Manu shook his head. "No. I'm still bad."

Then he lay back down again and started to cry.

Thomas felt like he had been punched in the stomach.

***

_Michael's decision making on the pitch was to be admired, but off the pitch it left a lot to be desired. He wondered why he had picked the caretaker's closet out of all possibly locations to hide in- he was mildly claustrophobic, after all. But there was nowhere else in the building to go that offered any sort of privacy, and besides, he didn't want to be caught loitering outside the physio's suite, especially when he had faked a mild muscle pull to get out of training. He waited impatiently, peering out through the gap in the door, and then his heart lit up. Miro was walking down the corridor of the training complex, having just left his treatment._

_"Miro! Hey! Miro!" Michael hissed._

_His boyfriend, clueless as always, looked around in bewilderment at the sound of his name being called. Rolling his eyes heartily, Michael reached a hand through the gap left by the closet door and waved it._

_"MIRO!" he whisper-shouted again._

_Miro turned his head and caught the sight of Michael's hand. Looking discombobulated, he hurried over to the closet and slipped inside. After a bit of uncomfortable wriggling, given that they were both rather large men, they finally both managed to fit themselves inside._

_"Mikey?" Miro asked, his expression utterly puzzled, when Michael gave him a hug. "How come you're hiding in here? What did you do to Oli?"_

_"You_ always  _assume I've done something wrong," Michael said sulkily._

_"Your general personality always leads me to make that conclusion," Miro said dryly. "If you haven't done something wrong, why are you cooped up in here?"_

_"Becauuuuse." Michael gave Miro a shifty grin. "I wanted to see you."_

_Quickly and nimbly, he stole a kiss from his boyfriend. Miro laughed against his mouth and wrapped his arms around Michael's shoulders, and for a few moments neither of them spoke, too busy enjoying the feeling of each other. When Michael drew away, casting half a glance at the gap in the door, he gave Miro a poke in the stomach._

_"I'm also here because they just started resistance training, and Carsten is being annoying and smug again. I wanted to spare myself," he said cheekily._

_"Mikey! I knew you had an ulterior motive."_

_"No, no, that's not my ulterior motive. My ulterior motive is my love for you. I love you," Michael said idly. "I also love having feeling in my legs. Rudi seems hellbent on breaking my beautiful calves with his stupid fucking metal sleds."_

_"Why are you so fixated on your calves?" Miro said, rolling his eyes. "Do you really find calves to be an attractive body part?"_

_Michael gasped in horror and Miro rolled his eyes even harder. "_ Miroslav!  _Ich glaube es nicht! You_ don't  _find my calves attractive?"_

_"Anything I say will be held against me for the rest of my life, won't it?" Miro sighed._

_"Natürlich. Now tell me how you really feel, our relationship can't be founded upon a lie-"_

_"Our relationship didn't start because of your calves-"_

_Michael pointed at Miro. "J'accuse! That's your answer! You don't find them attractive! I don't believe it!"_

_"I just don't think anyone's calves are attractive! They're calves!" Miro tried to defend himself. "I find every other part of you attractive, Mikey, if that makes you happy?"_

_He gave Michael a kiss on his forehead, his nose, and then his lips. Michael tried to be indignant, but it was difficult to be indignant when you were so full of joy. He started cackling in his infectious way, and the two of them ended up laughing so hard that Michael had to hold onto Miro so he didn't end up on the floor._

_This laughter drew to an abrupt halt when there was a sudden explosive sneeze from outside the closet. Michael jumped so violently his arm clattered against a box of detergent sprays, knocking it over, but Miro managed to catch it before it landed on the floor. With his torso ramrod straight and his body suddenly stock-still, Michael peered through the gap in the door to see who had sneezed outside._

_"Oh Gott,"  he said in a low voice. "It's Oli."_

_The towering goalkeeper had a cold, which explained the thunderous sneeze- he looked annoyed right now as he rooted in his pockets to find a packet of tissues. He didn't seem to have noticed the commotion from the closet, he was so engrossed in his own despairs. Normally Miro and Michael would have found the sight of a red-nosed, grumpy Oliver Kahn hysterical, but now they felt adrenaline. Neither of them really said anything, but Michael's shoulders were suddenly ridiculously tense. He was suddenly aware of how small and enclosed this space was, how close together he and Miro were, how rumpled and rosy-cheeked they both looked-_

_Oliver pulled out a tissue and blew his nose. It sounded like he was an elephant blowing its trunk, everything about Oliver was loud._

_"Verdammte Grippe," he groused to himself. And then he set off down the corridor again, towards the physio's suite._

_Miro and Michael remained perfectly still and silent until Oliver was out of sight. When he was gone, Michael's body relaxed again and he expelled a shaky breath._

_"Ha, Oli being sick is the best thing ever, it means he's too tired to yell at us when we laugh at him," he said hurriedly, trying to defuse the tension. "When he sneezes it sounds like a fucking nuclear explosion, Christ alive."_

_"I wouldn't bet on him being too tired to yell,"  Miro said quietly. His cheeks were red. "I wonder what he'd say if he found us in here, eh?"_

_Michael laughed nervously. "I wonder..."_

_Miro saw how pale he was. He took Michael's hands._

_"Mikey, don't worry. He didn't notice anything," he said softly._

_"I'm not worried!" Michael said quickly. "I just don't want Oli to catch me in here, I faked having muscle pain to skip training and he'd absolutely obliterate me if he found out. He'd yell at you too, and I drag you into enough of my messes..."_

_"Hey, I don't mind," Miro chuckled. "Your messes are my messes. I'm a willing participant in any endeavour you opt to carry out."_

_"Well, that's not true," Michael retorted. "Because you refused to do that jazz duet with me even though I_  do know _how to play the saxophone-"_

_"You do not."_

_"I do! I don't care if your neighbour complained, Übung macht den Meister, I have so much potential-_ "

 _"If you're so proud of your ability and aren't just trying to be annoying, why don't you play in front of Oli?" Miro enquired wryly. "How do you think he'd react to your_  potential?"

_Michael cracked up again._

_"He'd probably do the classic, and shout:-"_

"BALLACK!"

A familiar bull-like roar ripped Michael from his reverie- the man nearly jumped out of his seat, he was so startled. For a wild moment he thought the plane must have been crashing, as his heart was pounding almost unreasonably violently, but then he realised it was just the normal effect Oliver Kahn had on him.

"Christ on a bike, Oli, what have I done now?" Michael said breathlessly, clutching his chest. His former national captain was looking inexplicably grumpy, even though Michael had wisely taken care not to talk to him throughout the flight so far, out of fear that he would be himself and annoy the man. "I'm just out here trying to watch my film.

"Oh, you are, are you?" Oliver said irritably. "I can guess which one it is, given that you're fucking crying again.

"What? I'm not crying," Michael said, startled, but when his hands flew to his cheeks, they were indeed wet. Dear  _God._

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Yes, you are. Blubbering like goddamn Neuville at two drinks when he sees someone miss a sitter. And, natürlich-"

He lunged over the seat. Michael tried to hide the screen of his iPad, but he was powerless to the keeper, who plucked it out of his hands, checked to see what the film was and raised his eyes to the heavens.

"The Lives of Others," he sighed. "Jesus Christ. How many times have you watched that shit? How is it still emotional to you, when you  _know_ what happens off by heart by now? You see it once a fucking day."

"It's strikingly resonant and touching whether you've seen it one time or a hundred times," Michael said petulantly. "Wessi snob."

"Ossi sentimentalist. Anyway, forget about your goddamn GDR film-"

"I could never." 

"I've been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes," the former goalkeeper said threateningly. "I need to see the paperwork ZDF gave last week, you know, the one that Mayer gave us, for the studio-"

Michael cut in, which at one point in his life would have been indicative of having a death wish- and still was, which was perhaps why he was doing it. "I'm sorry, are you asking  _me_ if I'm carrying my paperwork with me? Who do you think I am? I didn't even know Mayer gave us paperwork. I guess my agent must have done it for me."

"Jesus Christ," Oliver said resignedly. "You're useless. Absolutely useless. I always said you had a screw loose. Miroslav was always the sensible one."

Michael snorted, even as his chest constricted. "That's what you think."

"That's what I know. How  _you_ became captain after  _me,_ I'll never know."

"Hey, I was a great captain. I took a leaf out of your book and was ruthless to everyone. You would have been proud of me if you had seen me back then."

"Ruthlessness doesn't have the same effect when it comes from you. You look too goofy and boyish. If I had ever been yelled at by you I would have laughed in your face."

"I'm not boyish. I'm thirty eight. And somehow I think that sentiment of yours isn't reserved just for me. You'd laugh at anyone who yelled at you," Michael murmured.

"Now, Philipp," Oliver said, not listening to him. "Philipp looks like a captain. He may not have the height, but his facial expressions and those god damn fierce eyebrows convey his status perfectly. he's a tenacious little fucker, Lahm is. He's got years left in him."

Michael was silent. Oliver noticed this and gave him a sideways glance- and then he sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said. Michael waved a hand.

"Don't do that, it's weird. Anyway, that shit with me and Lahm is years in the past. Not like I care about the goddamn bitchass National Team anymore anyway," Michael said in an off-hand tone of voice.

"Except when your job is to provide coverage of their progress on national TV and analyse everything they do extensively-"

"It's not my job, it's just occasionally during international breaks," Michael said dismissively. "All I do is bitching anyway."

Oliver hummed in agreement. "True. About everyone but Kloose."

"Who could bitch about Klose?" Michael sighed. "Who could say a bad word about him?"

"I could. I could say many bad words about him when he was at Bremen."

"But that's you. You don't have a good word to say about anyone."

"Thank you," Oliver said. "That reminds me, actually. Are you going to meet any of the team following the match?"

Michael hesitated, looking down at his knees and then out of the window. "Well... yeah. Yeah. Miro and I are going to get a drink and catch up before the break ends. But I'm not going to see anyone else. I hate them all."

"No you don't. You know you don't hate Schweinsteiger and Podolski. You don't hate Lahm anymore either. And what about Gomez? You should say hello to them, Ballack, they were your teammates, you know. You don't have to interact with Löw."

"Hmph! I don't care about that crusty ballsack. And I don't want to see anyone else but Miro. I'm not that well acquainted with the team anymore, I don't know any of the  _young  fucking talent._ And all the better for it," Michael said somewhat fiercely. 

Oliver sighed. "I can't force you to do anything. Lord knows I didn't want to see Jens again after I stepped down."

"You've never wanted to see him."

"Yes, nobody does, really," Oliver said fairly. "You go and see Miroslav again, at least he survived your purging of all old contacts. Though there was never really any doubt that he would. Ah, Miroslav. His boys are growing up fast, aren't they? Luan and Noah, they're cheeky little kids, they don't take after their father at all. Lord, it's still strange, Miroslav having children."

Michael slumped back in his seat, staring out of the window. 

"Strange," he repeated tonelessly.

"When are you going to have some?" Oliver asked critically, sizing Michael up. "You're thirty eight. I would've expected to see your terrible genes in a smaller form by now."

Michael shrugged listlessly, these sorts of words were nothing but a dull blow, nowadays. "Who knows, eh? Who knows. Maybe I'll never have them."

Oliver noted the sudden heavy bitterness of Michael's tone.

"You don't  _need_ to have them," Oliver said. "You'd be doing us all a favour, really."

"Mm," Michael hummed without looking in Oliver's direction. 

"But you should probably get a girl soon, hm? You've been lonely for too long," Oliver joked. "Every woman in Germany wants you for their own, yet you don't want any of them. Michael Ballack, Michael Ballack, what  _do_ you want?"

Michael smiled despite himself. 

"Something I can't ever get, Oli," he said softly.  _I lost it a long time ago._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO TIRED WHY DID I PUBLISH THIS SHIT
> 
> grippe=cold, flu
> 
> jesus christ joachim is the limit. playing kimmich as a midfielder. FUCK out of here
> 
> the stuff about leroy is true and also inspired by the genius stuff kristified says shes better than me
> 
> love yalls <3


	67. Chapter 67

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 22!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am injured!! won't play for the last 8 games of the season!!! L O V E L Y!
> 
> in true elise fashion, have a weird and messy chapter

When Marco woke up that morning, he felt inexplicably restless. The comfort and warmth of the covers was almost disconcerting given how he was feeling so suddenly agitated. He shifted in bed, turning his head, and was met by a pair of bright hazel eeyes.

Mario was smiling softly at him. Perhaps noticing Marco's fidgety behaviour, he used the tips of his fingers to turn Marco’s face downwards toward him, slotting their noses together so easily it was like every dip and bend on their person was made only for the other. That close it was hard to see much of anything, but Marco could feel the slight curve of Mario’s bottom lip turned up in a reassuring smile and it eased the tension between his shoulder blades.

"Morning, baby." Mario's voice was low and rough. "You feeling alright?"

"Good as ever, my love," Marco mumbled, kissing him lightly. "I just... I just feel like I need to be moving. Doing something. My body's yelling at me. It wants to be back on the pitch."

"It'll have to wait until you're fully recovered," Mario said quietly. "Hell, it'll have to wait until you're out of fucking bed. You just woke up, and you're already thinking of running around."

"It's my job," Marco muttered. "Running around is what I do for a living."

"You will do it soon," Mario promised.  "You'll be able to warm up with the team, no?"

"Well, I'll  _try_ to warm up with the team. Then I'll have to do individual training," Marco muttered. "Yet a-fucking-gain."

"Just focus on getting better," Mario murmured. "You never focus on that part of it all. You worried me, yesterday. You were being so..."

_Distant. Cold. Unfocused. You came to the room late. Something must have happened, but you didn't tell me anything again._

"Insufferably handsome?" Marco filled in for him. "Frighteningly sexy?"

"Wrong adjectives," Mario laughed. "You stupid idiot, Marco. All you have to do is take care of yourself. If you love yourself so much surely you would want to make sure you never come under any harm. Your body is sacred."

"Ah, Mar, that's why I don't  _need_ to take care of myself. My body has divine powers. I'm invincible. That's why I'm still the best player in the world, even after all these injuries," Marco said, indifferent about how everything he said was vaguely contradictory. "And I have you, my appointed worrier, to stop me from going off the deep end."

Marco pressed his mouth against Mario’s in a comforting kiss. A smile curled the edge of Mario’s mouth, and he leaned in for more, humming quietly when Marco deepened it by swiping a clever tongue along his lip. 

"I don't think I'm doing my job properly," Mario mumbled, when the kiss broke. 

Marco smiled. "You're doing just fine."

Mario stared at Marco. Marco stared at him back.

Suddenly Mario felt as if he couldn't look into those eyes for another second. He leaned forwards again and kissed Marco, who made a slight noise of surprise but responded enthusiastically. Mario shifted his body so he was lying on top of Marco, and he lost himself in sensation rather than thought.  Marco was so warm, and his pent up energy made him feel so alive beneath Mario, and kissing him felt as easy as  _breathing-_

Marco made a sudden pained noise. "Mar- Mar-"

Mario didn't hear for a moment, he was so lost, but then he felt Marco's hands pushing gently at him.

"Mar- hurts-" Marco gasped. "My knee hurts-"

Eyes widening, Mario pulled away at once, rolling off of him. Marco was wincing, his hand reaching down to his knee.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry," Mario said, horrified. "Are you okay? Jesus Christ, I didn't mean to put so much pressure on your body-"

"It's alright, it's alright," Marco said, shaking his head. "It was just an awkward angle, it's not your fault, your knee was pushing against mine-"

"I'm sorry-"

"Don't be, Fickfehler, I'm fine. I'm fine. You didn't mean it," Marco said firmly. He kissed Mario again, if only to stop him from looking so worried. "We should get up. Go downstairs. Fips is going to blare his foghorn any second now."

"Yeah," Mario said, flustered. "Yeah, yeah. Let's get up. Be careful. Gott, Marco, be careful."

"I'm always careful, honey."

Mario helped Marco get up, even though Marco insisted he didn't need it. The two of them were both very red, Mario suddenly breathless and Marco looking sweaty and strained. But when they caught each other's eye, Mario let out a helpless, nervous laugh and Marco reciprocated. 

When they made it down to the breakfast room after Mario took a _very_ long shower, Marco suddenly paused in the doorway before entering the room. Mario looked back at him as he was about to go inside, wondering if his boyfriend was in pain again. Marco's expression was distant, he looked uncertain about moving from the spot.

"Alright, baby?" Mario murmured. 

Marco looked at him. He opened his mouth to speak-

"Fucking hell, Reus, go into the room, what are you standing there for?" a snappy voice rang out behind Marco. Benni had appeared, with Mats beside him. Both of them looked distinctly worse for wear.  "Aren't you excited to ruin my day in front of the whole squad?"

"I'm ecstatic, you ugly bitch," Marco said back idly. "I could put on a better performance in a warm-up than your entire team could put on in a decade."

"You..." Benni muttered darkly, stalking into the breakfast room. Mats' middle finger flicked up, and he made sure to give Marco a gentle shoulder barge as he also went past. Marco responded by shoving him bodily into the room.

Then he breathed in and reached out for Mario's hand. Mario's fingers wrapped around his and they both walked in together, Marco feeling tension all over his body once more.

There were cheers as Marco entered, from Jerome, Lukas and Basti, and whistles from Benni and Mats. Marco regarded them with a regal wave of the hand.

"I'm just here for the warm-ups. I'm gonna be holed up in the performance centre for most of the day, don't get too excited, honeys," Marco said. "There won't be that blossom of hope you feel in your chest when you watch me play today, I'm sorry."

"It's good to see you anyway, bro," Jerome said, ruffling his hair as Marco and Mario went to sit by him. "How's your knee feeling?"

"Shit." Marco focused a little too hard on Jerome, who gave him a spontaneous hug. "But... you know. We're working on it."

"I know you are. You'll be back and kicking soon," Jerome said cheerily. "Have a roll, brother."

"Don't mind if I do," Marco said a little shakily. He took the roll from Jerome and took a bite out of it. And then he finally let himself look around the room.

His shoulders almost instantly relaxed. Jonas wasn't actually here yet.

"What's wrong with him?" Mario asked, jerking his head towards Sami, whose head was lying in his arms. Mesut was idly leaning against him, tapping something into his phone. 

"He's hungover," Jerome explained. Marco raised an eyebrow. "We had a bit of a drinking session last night. We would've invited you guys, but a drunken Mats and Benni would've been liable to rip you apart, so..."

"No, they wouldn't. Hummels is a crying drunk," Marco said idly. "A pussy boy."

Jerome laughed and shrugged. "You're not wrong there, I guess. Don't rule out Benni, though."

"Oh, I will. He plays for Schalke."

"So Mesami were drinking with you too?" Mario asked curiously, as Jerome snorted. "Was that interesting at all? Mesami with a few drinks in them?"

"More than a few," Jerome said. And then he hesitated. Marco noticed the hesitancy, and the way he gave a half-glance to the two grumpy looking men. "They did the usual, you know. Plainly confessed they loved each other then forgot all about it the next day."

Mario's eyebrows left his forehead. "You  _what?_ They  _confessed?_ "

"Oh, no, it wasn't a heartfelt declaration in front of everyone. It was one of their classic double-meaning confessions- you know, when they pretend it's friendly but really they want- they want-" 

"To get down on each other?" Marco offered. Jerome hit him, but then nodded.

"Unglaublich," Mario said, shaking his head. "There's no hope."

"I don't think so, Mario," Jerome said vaguely. He looked at Sami, who was hiding his face. "I don't think so."

They sat in contemplative silence for a few moments, and then there was a sudden commotion that dragged them out of their thoughts. Kai had run into the room. He was looking around excitedly as if desperate to see somebody, but then his shoulders deflated and he theatrically dragged his feet over to sit by Leon. Julian Brandt followed, looking as though he was trying very, very hard not to laugh.

"What the fuck is up with you?" Leon asked, balancing on the back of his chair with his phone in his hand, as per usual. "Did Julian let you eat sweets before breakfast or what?"

"I am not a  _child,_ thank you very much," Kai said imperiously, joining Leon in balancing on his chair legs. "I was just looking for somebody but they're not here yet."

"Where are Bernd and Marc-Andre?" Julian asked, when he sat down by them too. 

Leon shrugged. "Fucking, probably."

Kai let out a sudden shrill laugh and fell out of his chair. Julian sighed as Leon immediately went to his camera to take about thirty photos. 

Julian helped Kai back into his chair. The boy glared at Leon and folded his arms, turning directly away from him. Leon was now sending all thirty photos to one Serge Gnabry back in München.

"Stop hanging off your chair, you're going to break your neck. And eat some food," Julian scolded Kai. "They'll be here soon, don't you worry."

"Damn right!" Kai jumped up and down in his seat, a devilish grin on his face. Leon was too absorbed in his texting, and by extension too indifferent about Kai, to enquire about why he was so excited to see Bernd and Marc-Andre all of a sudden.

Kai almost fell down again when someone else entered the room. But it wasn't Bernd or Marc-Andre, it was Thomas, holding a glass of something distinctly...  _disgusting_ looking.

"Beep beep, coming through," Thomas said, heading towards Sami. Jerome saw what he was holding and instantly began making retching noises, and when Mats saw too he joined in. "Shut the fuck up, Boateng and Hummels, I'm actually going to help him feel better. Chin up, Khedira, you're going to be cured, now."

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Basti said from where he was playing FIFA on his phone with Lukas. "Not that disgusting drink."

"With Kefir added to it, Basti," Jerome called over. Basti looked faintly sick.

"Ugh, that's nasty," Marco said, shuddering. "Lewandowski made me drink Kefir once, when I had a virus- the virus went, but so did half the contents of my stomach."

"Urrrrgh, that's disgusting!" Kai said, with feeling. 

"You're lucky Fips isn't here to see that you've got a hangover drink for him," Leon said to Thomas. "He's still taking a damn shower. You'd better drink that up quickly, Sami, before he comes."

Mesut coaxed Sami into raising his head from his arms. The central midfielder looked god-awful, with his hair tousled and his eyes shadowed. He looked at the drink Thomas had set before him with trepidation. 

"It'll make me feel better?" he croaked. "You're sure of that?"

"Unequivocally," Thomas said firmly. "Drink up."

"Drink it quickly, Sam," Jerome advised.

Sami looked at Mesut, who, ominously, had his phone out. And then he picked up the glass, looking at it with a nauseated expression on his face.

"Chug, chug, chug-" Marco started up a chant.

" _CHUG, CHUG, CHUG-_ " everyone joined in, as Sami raised the glass to his lips, and then tipped it downwards-

Mats and Jerome both pretended to be sick as Sami started draining the glass, with everyone egging him on. The colour left the Juve man's face as he drank but, following Jerome's advice, he didn't stop. Eventually the glass was empty and Sami slammed it down with a gasp.

"WAHEYYY!" everyone cheered, as Sami panted as though he had won a marathon.

"Oh- my- God-" Sami gasped, his face very white. "That was- that was-"

Everyone waited for Sami to elaborate, but the midfielder didn't seem to have the words to say. He was stock-still for a moment, then his chest heaved and he jumped out of his chair, sprinting out of the room. Mesut, with his camera, ran after him, cackling.

Everyone roared with laughter and Thomas looked mildly offended.

"He could have at least said  _thank_ _you,_ " the Bavarian groused. "I put time and effort into making that."

"Thanking you is going to be the last thing on his mind, Thom," Mats informed Thomas. 

"What on Earth is going on in here?" a voice called out. Thomas instantly grabbed the empty glass of hangover drink, with its green residue, and hid it behind his back as Fips entered the room, his hair sticking up like it usually did after he had had a shower. Alongside him was Mario Gomez, looking inexplicably sheepish, and an exasperated looking Miro.

"Absolutely nothing Philipp nothing to report," Thomas said, and then he ran out of the room before Fips could question him further. Fips watched him go in bewilderment- and Benni watched him too.

Everyone put on a very bad show of appearing totally innocent. Fips glared at them all suspiciously, and then he sighed, too tired to do any detective work. Mario and Miro went to sit down near Basti and Lukas, while Fips went to join Leon.

"Have fun in the shower?" Leon asked. "You were in there for hours. What were you doing?"

"Composing my epitaph," Fips muttered. "I don't know how you can tell me  _I_ spend a long time in the shower. My dear boy, I've never seen someone more obsessed with their hygiene than you. I've often wondered if you're not in there tweezing your undercarriage one hair at a time."

Leon choked on the orange juice he had just gone to take a drink of and spluttered uselessly at Fips, who blithely leaned over the table to get a piece of toast.

"Where  _is_ everybody?" he asked. "Where's ter Stegen and Leno, Kroos and Hector, Sané? And Özil and Khedira? And where the hell did Müller go?"

His question was in part answered. Thomas returned to the room and sat down by Benni with a very unconvincing calm expression on his face, and Toni and Jonas entered the room at that moment. Jerome waved Toni over to tell him about what had happened with Sami, and Mario Gomez called out to Jonas, wanting to show him something. 

Mario Götze suddenly felt Marco's arm beneath his hand tense. He glanced at Marco, but Marco was not looking at him, but over at Jonas.

Jonas walked towards Mario Gomez slowly. His gaze was fixed on the striker, but when he sat down, his eyes flickered briefly towards Marco. 

His expression was cold. But then he looked away from Marco almost at once and shifted his attention to Mario, and his normal friendly grin appeared on his face.

Marco exhaled, but his arm was still tense. Mario looked at him, puzzled, but Marco just lunged across the table all of a sudden to get another roll, stuffing it in his mouth.

Mesut and Sami returned to the room after twenty minutes or so of idle chatter. Everyone burst out laughing as they saw how pale and traumatised Sami looked, and Fips narrowed his eyes.

"You alright, Sam?" Jerome shouted. "Did Mülli do the impossible and-"

He suddenly noticed Fips.

"-cure your stomach virus?" Jerome finished hastily. "Or do you still feel like you're going to chuck?"

Sami lowered himself into his seat again, shaking his head mutely. Mesut was howling with laughter, sending off the hangover drink video to everyone he had ever known. 

"Never, ever again," was all he said. "Never again. Never. Never, never, never."

He repeated this like a mantra, needing to focus on a spot in the distance so he didn't throw up again. Thomas folded his arms.

"Your loss," he said idly. 

"No. It's nobody's loss," Mats said.

"Is he sick?" Fips demanded, as everyone looked at the notification on their phones so they could watch Sami's unfortunate situation again. "Why is he in training, if he's got a virus? Aren't we all going to catch it?"

The Drink and Despair men pointedly avoided Fips' gaze. 

"It's a non-infectious thing, excercise cures it," Mesut mumbled.

"Absolut," Mats muttered in agreement. "Non-infectious cured-by-excercise disease-"

His rambling was thankfully broken off by yet another arrival- this time Kai really could jump out of his seat in excitement. Everyone else exchanged smirks as Marc-Andre and Bernd bodily sprinted into the room, but this time neither of them seemed bent on causing trouble- in fact, both of them looked wildly eager.

"What the hell is up with you two?" Mario asked.

"Did you do the deed?" Mesut asked idly, earning himself a filthy look from Bernd.

"No- of course not! We've just heard the craziest thing!" Marc-Andre looked positively electric with energy. Everyone looked at him warily. "Didn't Leroy  _tell_ you guys?"

Everyone exchanged bemused looks. Marc-Andre was staring at them with wide eyes, evidently waiting for one of them to leap out of their seat and cry, 'but of  _course!_ '

"Didn't Leroy tell us what?" Jerome asked, utterly puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

Marc-Andre's mouth fell open. He looked at Jerome in amazement. " _What?_ Leroy didn't  _tell_ you?"

"What the fuck should Leroy have told me?" Jerome said, staring around at the others for some sort of explanation, but he couldn't find one. They all looked just as nonplussed.

"It was why he left yesterday!" Marc-Andre raised his eyes to the heavens. "Leroy really didn't say anything to you?"

"We've established that, ter Stegen," Mesut said. "He hasn't said anything to anyone. What happened to Leroy?"

"What do you mean, he left?" Fips asked. "What on Earth is going on here?"

Marc-Andre fell to his knees dramatically. "Mein Gott, none of you know!"

" _WHAT DON'T WE KNOW-_?"

"Candice!" Marc-Andre cried. "Candice is near! There was a false alarm yesterday, so he went back to Manchester, but she's so close! It could be any day, now!"

Jerome stared at Marc-Andre. "Have I entered another dimension?"

"Who is Candice?" Kai asked.

"I couldn't tell you, Kai," Julian said. 

" _Candice!_ Leroy's girlfriend!" Marc-Andre looked shocked. "How do you not know Candice? Are you guys crazy?" 

"Leroy has a  _girlfriend?_ " Basti demanded. "I thought he was gay!"

"Same here," Lukas said faintly. 

"I knew he was bi, but I didn't know he had a  _girlfriend,_ " Leon said in astonishment.

Marc-Andre gasped in disbelief. Mesut suddenly looked enlightened.

"Oh, shit, I think I know Candice. Candice Brooks, the one linked with Drummond?" he said slowly.

" _Drummond's_ ex girl? _Pistons'_ Drummond?" Toni said, shocked.

Marc-Andre nodded vigorously.

"They're  _together?_  " Mesut demanded. "What the fuck?I thought Leroy just had a fling with her or something, I didn't realise it was a long-term relationship-  _oh. Oh!_ "

Mesut fell out of his seat. Sami stared down at him. 

"What is going on?" Fips yelled. "Marc-Andre, explain concisely! Where is Sané? Where did he go?"

"Leroy's girlfriend Candice is pregnant!" Marc-Andre said. "She's due anytime soon!"

" _WHAT?_ " Jerome bellowed.

" _PREGNANT_?" everyone else yelled in unison.

"Oh my God, oh my God, I can't believe none of you knew!" Marc-Andre cried. "You're all terrible people! Leroy is about to have a father- I mean, Leroy is about to  _be_ a father, and all of you had no idea! You didn't even know he had a girlfriend!"

"Because he kept that shit under wraps!" Jerome looked like he was about to collapse. "How long have they been together for?"

"For about nine months!" Marc-Andre said. Mesut threw himself flat onto the ground and shook his head wildly.

"So his fling... wasn't just a fling?" Mesut said in utter disbelief. "He just went out there and started a long-term relationship and is about to become a father, and  _none_ of us had a clue? He never told me anything about if he got together with her or not!"

"This is what I was saying," Mats said in sudden realisation. "Jeri, this is what I was saying. I said we hardly know anything about Leroy. We clown him all the damn time, and suddenly out of the blue he's got a girlfriend and is about to have a kid. This is all our own faults. All the roasting was building up to this moment."

" _Our_ Leroy is going to be a father?" Leroy's former team captain Benni gasped. " _Leroy?_ Ich glaube es nicht."

" _Jesus!_ " Jerome said. "This is a pretty fucking big thing to hide! 'Personal' issues my ass, how did he pull a fast one on us like that?"

"We are reaping what we have sown," Mats said warningly. "We have nobody to blame but ourselves. Leroy is probably in Manchester laughing at us all. He's the nerd who got bullied at school who grew up to become a billionaire, while we, his bullies, ended up working in an insurance firm."

"You're right," Marc-Andre said, with feeling. "You're all terrible people."

"To be fair, he is kind of a background character," Niklas said. "Footballers are always having wild relationships, we only see him about once every couple of months for a week and he doesn't get called up that much anyway. I don't claim to know anything about, like, Toni's life, even if he is my teammate. You can't really get to know everybody."

"STOP MAKING EXCUSES FOR YOURSELF!"

Jonas had been watching the scene like a tennis match. He finally braved speaking up. "Maybe we should congratulate him?"

" _Congratulate him?_ " Jerome yelled, and Jonas winced. "I'm going to  _obliterate_ him! How could he do something like this? It's unheard of! It's unbelievable!"

"This is  _tea,_ " Joshua agreed. "The best tea we've heard all international break. I can't  _believe_ this."

"It's seems a bit goddamn contrived," Julian Brandt said in wonder.

Leon was texting wildly. 

Sami had been sitting relatively still, even as Mesut threw his head against his knee and chuntered in shock. He had had a remarkably subdued response to discovering Leroy was about to become a father- mostly because, if he opened his mouth, he was sure he was going to throw up everything inside of him again. 

"He's going to have a baby," Toni said in amazement. "He's going to have a baby. And he's only twenty two. Jesus Christ. I hope he's ready."

Miro nodded seriously. "I'm happy for him, but I'm also somewhat worried. He's very young. He's a lot more mature than he used to be, but still, such a change in life is difficult for anybody to handle... But he's got somebody by his side to help him, he's in a happy relationship, it seems."

In a way, the revelation that Leroy had a secret relationship actually wasn't too surprising- the difference in age between some of the squad members, and their physical proximity, meant that it was always going to be completely unlikely that they knew everything about each other. Especially since certain members were always rotating in and out of the squad at the whim of the coach. What really struck Miro was that even a twenty two year old had found something like this for himself...

"He's a millionaire, he's financially set, he can afford to have a kid," Julian Draxler pointed out.

"You can't buy experience," Toni murmured. "And you can't buy courage. It takes courage to have a kid."

There was a moment of thoughtful silence. But thoughtful silence was not what the German national team wanted to sit in when they had just heard such wild news. Jerome started yelling again, Marc-Andre was suddenly beset by questions about every facet of Leroy's hidden relationship and Fips was biting his nails.

"Do you think he'll be back for the France game?" Julian Brandt enquired. "Because his girlfriend- goddamn, his  _girlfriend-_ hasn't actually had the baby yet, right?"

"But she's due very soon, so I doubt he'd leave her," Marc-Andre said. 

"Plus, it's not like he'd get to play anyway," Joshua giggled, and Julian Draxler sighed.

"The man's about to become a father, are we really roasting him about his lack of- yes. Yes we are," Julian answered his own question. "Of course we are. God, what did I become there, for a moment?"

"Him having a kid isn't reason not to roast him anymore. In fact we should be doing it more." Jerome was still incredibly offended that Leroy had never told him anything. 

"I'm happy for him," Marco said. "I feel like he'll be a great dad. He's excitable but he'll want to do everything right. Miro and Toni, he's going to be begging you for parenting advice, mark my words."

"I'll gladly give it to him," Miro chuckled. Toni shrugged.

"Having a kid was a scary time, I'll help him if he needs it."

"His nighttime reading has been parenting manuals whenever I roomed with him," Marc-Andre said. "He's prepared in advance."

"Parenting manuals?" Jerome said in disbelief. "I never saw him reading a parenting manual." 

"Maybe you just never paid attention to him," Bernd suggested.

"Yeah, all you do in hotel rooms is talk to Lewandowski," Toni muttered.

At that moment, their coach walked into the breakfast room, to rally them all into getting up and starting warm-ups.  Everyone was talking about this newest development, torn between joy for Leroy and complete disbelief- it looked like they were going to be distracted for the rest of the morning.

Fortunately, Sami provided a diversion- when he stood up shakily with the help of Mesut, he suddenly raised both of his hands, silencing everybody. Everyone looked at his pale face warily, taking a few steps backwards, and then Jerome suddenly shouted-

"FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

When it was all over, Thomas folded his arms once more, as everyone all groaned and Sami moaned in despair.

"This isn't my fault," he said stubbornly. 

***

Despite the fact he seemed on the verge of death, Sami had dragged himself out onto the training pitch- excercise had always done him good when he had had hangovers in the past, and plus, he was pretty certain that Thomas' appalling drink had taken everything out of him. Before joining the others in their warm-ups, he had eaten as many calories as he could muster to regain his strength. Mesut had stayed with him, though he had maintained a safe distance.

"I'm going to  _kill_ Müller," Sami said darkly, when they finally got outside into the fresh air. "Hangover cure my fucking  _asscrack._ "

"Jeri and Mats did warn you," Mesut giggled. He wasn't even bothering to restrain his mirth at the situation, even when Sami glared darkly at him. "You should've stuck with the headache."

"It is kind of gone, to be honest," Sami said grouchily. "But not in the way I wanted it to go. Jesus Christ, nobody is ever going to let me forget this."

Case in point, when Sami and Mesut reached the rest of the team, who were warming up, there was an instant cacaphony of throwing up noises. 

"Nice, really mature," Sami shouted over at them. "Look, can we let this one go, Sané is having a baby-"

"We're over that now. That's cute. Your humiliation is next on the menu," Mats yelled at him.

"Lovely!" Sami was furious, but Mesut really couldn't take it seriously after what he had seen this morning. "The  _nerve_ of Hummels, it was his idea that got me into this situation in the first place. I could  _strangle_ him."

He picked up a stretch band and wound it around his hands to emphasise this point.

"It's alright, Sam, it's alright, I've seen you in worse positions," Mesut said idly, beckoning for Sami to come towards him so they could use the stretch bands. "You throwing up after downing Mülli's drink in one go is pretty much human, more than anything else. That shit really is revolting."

Sami could testify to that. 

"I really can't remember anything from last night," Mesut yawned, as Sami began to stretch.  "I kind of remember Jeri being an emotional wreck, but I can't tell if that was from last night specifically or from the many other times he's been an emotional wreck. Do you remember anything?"

Sami focused on the pleasurable strain in his calf, whilst biting on his lower lip. He  _did_ have a couple of memories of the Drink and Despair session. Mesut raising a glass to him, saying,  _to forever..._ The twinge of uncertainty and inexplicable dread he had felt inside of him at those words...

There was another memory too, one that was trying to rise to the surface of his mind, but was being held back by the after-effects of the alcohol... It was a memory that made him feel... free...

"I remember Jeri crying too," he said nonchalantly. "And Benni yelling. But not much else."

Mesut shrugged. "I do feel a bit more relaxed now, even though I'm a bit hungover. We probably didn't do anything we'd regret."

Sami made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat.

Julian and Kai were stretching with each other, though their stretching had involved a complicated tangle of limbs because Kai had excitedly jumped when seeing Bernd in the goalkeepers' area make a great save. Both of them had sworn a solemn pact to not let anything about the Steno situation slip from their lips- and of course, they were going to honour that pact. But Bernd had never said anything about not talking to people who already  _knew_ about it.

They both hopped over to Mesami, who had switched sides, Mesut now stretching. Mesut didn't notice the two young ones at first, but Sami did. He gave them a cursory glance. 

"Yes?" he said flatly. Mesut looked over and smiled when he saw Kai and Julian. 

"Hi!" Kai waved and almost made Julian fall over again, he was so enthusiastic. "Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi. Mesut and Sami. Sami and Mesut."

Julian sighed, he really needed to get untangled from this stretch band. 

"Hi, hi, hi, hi, Kai and Julian, Julian and Kai," Mesut said, shifting legs. Kai looked admiringly at his idol as though he had carried out a heroic endeavour. "What's up?"

Kai looked at Julian, who looked back at him with an eye-roll. Kai had been the one so eager to get into the tea, but now he seemed too shy to bring up said tea. 

"We have further tea," Julian explained. "To add to the Leroy thing. Well, it's got nothing to do with Leroy- except if you count his association with Marc-Andre, and the fact he also knows about it."

Sami looked confused, but Mesut guffawed. "Aw, shit, are you talking about our little goalkeeper friends?"

Kai jumped up and down and gestured towards the goalkeepers' area, where Bernd was parrying shots from Andreas, while Marc-Andre stretched out his limbs at the side. 

"Oh, so you guys know?" Sami grinned appreciatively. "About that colossal shitshow?"

"Yeah, we do!" Kai said excitedly. "I walked in on Bernd in the middle of a conversation with  _Olivier Giroud-_ God, I'm so jealous that he gets to talk to that man on a regular basis-"

Mesut chuckled, and Sami scowled.

"-and he was in the middle of telling him that he had been- he had been-"

"Fucking Marc-Andre during all the international break so far," Julian filled in, and Kai made a noise like a distant siren. "It was possibly the most Leverkusen way of finding out about tea ever. I was so fucking pissed when I found out. But now I think this is the funniest shit in the  _world._ "

All four of them looked over to where Marc-Andre and Bernd were training, Bernd with his powerful jumps and punches, Marc-Andre with his silky-smooth reflexes. Beneath the glossy facade there were two bumbling fools, both of them fighting for a single spot while trying to navigate romance at the same time.

"I'm really surprised you've only just found about it," Sami snorted. "They've kept it under wraps for way longer than I expected them to. But I guess that's going to end, now."

"What'd you mean?" Kai enquired, displaying remarkable flexibility in his stretching. "Why's it going to end?"

Sami shrugged. "Well, you know about it now, don't you?" 

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" Kai said in an injured tone. "I'm not going to say anything! I'm going to carry Bernd's secret to my grave!"

He looked at Julian, so Julian could proclaim his loyalty to Bernd too. Julian was mysteriously looking away.

"Jule!" Kai whined. "We're not going to say anything, right?"

Julian scratched the back of his neck. "Oh, yeah. Sure."

"Convincing," Sami sniggered. "You can start digging  _Bernd's_ grave, now, Havertz. The secret will be out within a few days."

"Shame the same can't be said for you," Kai muttered under his breath. Julian let out a little scream but, in typical Mesami fashion, neither of them had caught the comment.

"Nah, kid, I'm sure you'll keep it hidden. Bernd says you're a trustworthy one," Mesut said. Kai glowed. "I'm not sure why Sami is getting on his high horse, he's the one who's been wanting to out them from the start."

Sami looked annoyed. "You were just as invested in the tea as I was. Remember when you and new daddy Leroy were convinced those two had both died in Barcelona? And when you were laughing at them for the whole time this shit took place? You gave them the worst advice ever and was so pissed when they told you to keep your mouth shut, you wanted to  _humiliate_ them. I don't know how Bernd didn't die with you in his presence."

Mesut suddenly realised his shoelaces needed to be tied. "Yeah, well, Oli was there to keep him straight. Or reasonably gay, so to speak."

"Hmph! I bet Giroud was like their fucking relationship Buddha, the reason they found  _happiness,_ " Sami said mockingly.

"I bet he was!" Kai said brightly. "He seems like a man so in-tune with his emotions, a man so wise, I bet he guided Bernd on a path towards enlightenment."

"I don't know about that," Julian muttered. "Would you say Bernd looks like a man who's found enlightenment?"

"Hell, no. What he looks like is a man who's found himself in a royal fucking bind," Sami snorted. "And let's not get started on what Marc-Andre looks like. He's had  _Leroy_ as his mentor."

"As we've recently discovered, Leroy is pretty good at hiding secrets," Mesut pointed out.

"But Olivier Giroud is a cut above the rest!" Kai sighed admiringly. "I'm sure the decision Bernd made to get with Marc-Andre was a good one, even with their turbulent decade of history that hasn't really been addressed- if _Olivier_ gave them advice, they were sure to choose the right thing." 

Sami simply walked away to join in the miniature passing drills that had started up as part of the warm-ups. Julian was silently in peals of laughter and Mesut was sighing at Kai. 

"Kid, kid, kid," he said. "You're going to be seeing him soon, are you sure you'll be able to handle it? Will we have to carry around a stretcher with us from when he inevitably knocks you out?"

"Probably!" Kai said joyfully. "Will you  _introduce_ me, Mesut?"

Mesut shrugged. "Sure. What would you like my description of you to be?"

"Good lord, now you've done it," Julian sighed, as Kai suddenly collapsed at this multi-faceted and overly complex question. 

Multi-faceted and overly complex questions were also being asked of Fips as he passed the ball back and forth between him, Leon, Basti and Lukas.

"Are you gay?" all three of them enquired, whenever they passed to him. "Philipp, bist du homosexuell? Are you of the non-straight variety?"

"Do you have a secret relationship and a child incoming also?" Leon asked, swiping him the ball in a nifty little manouevre as Lukas tried to trick him with a reverse-pass.

Fips kicked the ball hard into the sniggering Basti's face, but Basti just headed it in the direction of Lukas' boot. 

"I could ask the same question of  _you,_ Mr Texter," Fips said aggravatedly, as Lukas started playing keep-up instead of participating in the drill.

Leon raised his eyes to the heavens. " _Mr Texter?_ What's going on, Fips? There  _must_ be something up with you if that's what you're coming out with. Let's get it all out, today is a day for arbitrary  _discoveries._  Where did you go yesterday, to get you in such a state?"

"To the home of your  _mother,_ " Fips snapped. Basti was getting impatient with Lukas and stole the ball off of him. "Schweinsteiger, will you pass me the goddamn ball, as is part of the drill?"

"Ne. And you went somewhere yesterday? Oh, this has  _got_ to be good," Basti said, now trying to keep the ball out of his boyfriend's reach. 

Fips closed his eyes and counted to ten. "It really isn't. You remember Hubert Meier."

"Oh, good God, you're right, it isn't," Lukas said, shuddering.

"Who the hell is Hubert Meier?" Leon asked, also trying to dispossess Basti- and, being faster than him, achieved in this endeavour.

"Only the most boring man I've ever met in my life," Basti told Leon. "Seriously, this is a guy who went off on a rant about how it's barbaric to use tap-water instead of distilled in a quality clothes-iron. Other realms of conversation with him involve shares transactions, and, if you're feeling in a mood to talk about sporting matters, he knows an awful lot about Cribbage, Hearts, Pinochle, and five card bloody stud."

"We have shares in a muesli firm," Fips said dryly.

Leon was amazed. "Jesus, Fips, how boring is your social circle?"

"Incomprehensibly boring," Lukas said, shaking his head. "We once made the mistake of joining Fips to meet Meier when we had nothing to do during an international break away week in France- I swear, I still have the wrinkles."

"And I have grey hair because of it," Basti added, gesturing at his blond head, streaked liberally with silver. "Believe me, Leon, Fips did  _not_ do anything interesting last night."

"I'll take your words for it. You're lucky you have me, Fips," Leon declared. "A young, enthusiastic future captain who can actually show you what it's like to have  _fun._ "

"I can't have fun, you take that back," Fips muttered. "And, future captain?  _You?_ " 

Marco, who had often proclaimed  _himself_ as being the future captain of the national team (whilst blithely ignoring the fact he hadn't  _played_ for it enough to ever be in contention), was gritting his teeth so hard that if he opened his mouth dust would have probably poured out. He had participated in the warm-ups, having managed the stretches and short-passing quite well. His friends had slowed down a good deal so he could keep up with the movement on the field.  But the lingering strain in his knee meant that his individual work in the performance centre was going to be hell.

But he wasn't even really thinking of that in the moment. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jonas, focused intently on his work with Toni, Mario Gomez, Jerome and Miro. Jonas wasn't regarding him whatsoever,  _hadn't_ regarded him since that brief moment of eye contact at the breakfast table, but Marco still felt tension lingering in the air between them.

"Reus, you fucking laptop case, what sort of pass was that?" Benni said aggravatedly, as Marco distractedly kicked the ball out instead of directing it accurately at Benni. 

"Better than anything your team could string together in the final third," Marco said absently. 

Benni picked up the ball and threw it at him.

There was a small, knife-edge voice inside of Jonas Hector, and its cruel commentary was rarely quieted. Neither was the muted anger that stirred within his stomach. Jonas tried very hard to avoid looking at Marco, because he knew that ever since he had run away, he had done nothing but temporarily evaded confronting his emotions. As arbitrary as the sudden confrontation had been, Jonas knew it hadn't been unfounded. 

"Look out!" Mario Gomez suddenly yelled, and Jonas started out of his reverie. There was a ball headed straight towards his face-

 _Smash!_ Jonas yelled in pain and fell backwards as the ball struck him right in the nose.

"Fucking hell, Gomez, you idiot!" Toni said, running over to Jonas. Mario was shouting apologies to anyone who would listen. "Jonas, are you alright?"

"Yeah," Jonas said, wincing as he sat back up, prodding at his nose with his fingers. "Fucking  _hell._ I'm lucky that wasn't travelling at full speed towards me. Jesus Christ."

Then he shook his head a little, removing his hand from the bruised part of his face. "Sorry. Sorry, Mario! I wasn't paying attention, I didn't see that coming!" 

"I was the one who  _kicked_ it at you!"

"I should've been paying attention," Jonas said somewhat aggressively. He got back up again, one eye welling up. "It'll be fine. Sorry, guys."

"Watch what you're doing, will you, Mario?" Miro sighed, as Mario wrung his hands apologetically. "Jonas, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Jonas said, as his nose throbbed. "I'm fine."

He let his gaze half travel to the right. There was Marco, looking at him, his expression unfathomable.

"I'm _fine_ ," Jonas said again, almost spitting the words. 

Marco turned away.

***

"Step  _away_ from your brother!"

"YOU HIT ME-!"

"Noah, go upstairs and get changed!" Sylwia Klose yelled, surging in between the two twin boys who had thrown themselves at each other and pointing at the door. Noah tried to get in a final swipe at his brother but was blocked by Sylwia. "Upstairs! Now!"

"He's a stupid idiot and he hit me!" Noah yelled, as he ran out of the room.

"He started it!" Luan cried.

"I don't care who started it!" Sylwia said crossly. "What have I told you about  _hitting_ people, Luan!"

"You should do it to stupid people!" Luan said obstinately.

Sylwia folded her arms. "Luan! What did I tell you?"

Luan kicked the floor with his foot and avoided his mother's gaze. The force of Sylwia's gaze only grew stronger the longer he tried to evade it. Finally, he stamped his foot and said furiously:

"You shouldn't hit anyone."

"That's right!" Sylwia reprimanded him. "So why did you do it just then?"

"Because he called me a Fotze-!"

"Hey!" Sylwia yelled, just as Luan said the incriminating word. "You can't say that word, it's very, very rude! Vati told you not to say it!"

"So why aren't you telling  _Noah_ off for saying it!" 

"Because I didn't hear him say it! But that's not the point! I don't care what Noah says, you shouldn't ever hit him!" Sylwia scolded. "You shouldn't hit anyone! Now, go upstairs and brush your teeth, we have a flight to catch today!"

Luan looked furious as he turned on his heel and ran away from his mother. Sylwia watched him race away in the same direction his brother had just gone in and suddenly had a rush of panic.

"DON'T GO ANYWHERE NEAR YOUR BROTHER!" Sylwia yelled. "BOTH OF YOU STAY APART FROM EACH OTHER!"

She heard a vague shout in response and was sure that it didn't mean anything good. But she really did not have the energy to chase them down and prevent another fight.

Sylwia sighed, running her fingers through her hair and rubbing her eyes thoroughly. She was on about three hours of sleep and soon she was going to be flying to Paris with two out-of-control boys. The tickets that Miro had gotten her from the DFB were in the VIP section of the Stade de France and the hotel that had been booked was five-star, but she felt like even those luxuries weren't enough to pay for the experience she was going to have on the plane journey.

She had been packing for about half the afternoon- when you had two little kids your suitcases often looked more like an explosion rather than anything resembling ordered luggage. Toys, sweets, anything to keep them occupied so she could hopefully take a light two-minute doze on the plane- alright, she knew that she would be more likely to get a full-night's uninterrupted sleep, but a woman could dream.

Actually, no she couldn't. To dream she would need to get sleep.

_You're going to go shopping in the Champs-Élysées, Sylwia. Luan and Noah won't sleep ever again after the match, but at least there'll be a fucking jacuzzi in the hotel, and fucking olives on sticks. Don't succumb to despair._

***

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Niklas:** LADS

 **Julian B:** IT'S

 **Kai:** LEROY

 **Julian D:** AND

 **Mats:** HE 

 **Benni:** IS

 **Marc-Andre:** PREGNANT

 **Bernd:** WITH

 **Mario Gom:** A

 **Jerome:** TRAITOR

 **Niklas:** This is what spontaneity does to you I guess

 **Niklas:** It was meant to be a congratulatory message...

 **Leroy:** oh... so... im... guessing...

 **Leroy:** you guys...  _know..._ huh

 **Jerome:** damn fucking straight we know

 **Jerome:** found out from ter stegen running in like an idiot screaming CANDICE IS NEAR

 **Jerome:** WHO THE FUCK IS CANDICE LEROY

 **Jerome:** WE DIDN'T KNOW  BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T TELL US

 **Leroy:** in my defence

 **Jerome:** in YOUR defence?!?!?!

 **Leroy:** yes in my defence

 **Leroy:** it's kind of a complicated sitch

 **Leroy:** our relationship was a little bit uncertain ...

 **Leroy:** so we decided to keep it low-profile

 **Leroy:** you know the media, young black man about to have a kid with a thirty one year old

 **Leroy:** judgement flies yknow

 **Leroy:** if they can rip into sterling for having breakfast then they i dread to know what might happen to me

 **Leon:** that's fair

 **Mesut:** yeah it is but what's NOT fair is how you didn't tell us

 **Mesut:** you told me about the fact you met her in that club but how comes you never said that you continued that relationship

 **Jerome:** who tf else knows?

 **Leroy:** i don't see u that much i guess!!!!! and theres been other Tea recently

 **Leroy:** my friends in manchester know

 **Leroy:** mutter and vater too!!! theyre gonna be grandparents!!!

 **Leroy:** some friends in essen

 **Leroy:** oh and marc-andre

 **Jerome:** yeah we know MARC-ANDRE knows

 **Jerome:** you know what don't even talk to me ever again

 **Leroy:** jeri

 **Jerome:** >:(

 **Leroy:** cmon cut me a lil bit of slack

 **Jerome:** >:(

 **Leroy:** i'll make her middle name jerome

 **Marc-Andre:** Hey wait what about me

 **Jerome:** IT'S A LITTLE GIRLLLLLLLLLLLLL?

 **Julian B:** AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

 **Leroy:** YEAH IT'S A LITTLE BABY GIRL AND WE'RE GOING TO NAME HER RIO STELLA

 **Leroy:** WHEN SHE COMES ANYWAY

 **Jerome:** RIO STELLA JEROME SANÉ

 **Jerome:** I'M GONNA CRY

 **Toni:** Are you sure you had the right idea with that middle name Leroy

 **Marc-Andre:** Yeah what the FUCK

 **Marc-Andre:** Rio Stella Marc-Andre Sane sounds so much better

 **Bernd:** none of you should ever have children 

 **Leroy:** SHE COULD BE CALLED THROCKMORTON FOR ALL I CARE I'M GONNA LOVE HER ALL THE SAME

 **Leroy:** I'M SO HYPED YOU GUYS

 **Leroy:** SHE'S GONNA HAVE THE BEST LIFE POSSIBLE

 **Marco:** damn right she will!!! congratulations bro!

 **Leroy:** THANK YOUUU

 **Kai:** yeah for reeeeeallll congratulations!!!!

 **Kai:** maybe she'll be like, a 100m runner because her dad is so fast!!!!

 **Leroy:** OMG MAYBE BUT SHE COULD ALSO BE LIKE THE BEST WOMEN'S FOOTBALLER EVER OR SHE COULD BE A COOL ASTROPHYSICIST OR LIKE A MUSICIAN OR ANYTHING

 **Julian D:** She could be a starter for the Nationalmannschaft where her father wasn't 

 **Leroy:** YESSS

 **Leroy:** i'm so happy guys 

 **Jonas:** You really should be, I'm so happy for you Leroy congratulations!!!

 **Leroy:** thank you jonas you're gonna be the only person from the team allowed to see her

 **Jerome:** HEY

 **Leroy:** i don't wanna get clowned in front of my baby girl!!!!

 **Serge:** LEROY 

 **Serge:** LEO TOLD ME THAT YOURE HSAVING A CHISLD AND IA M S HO O K

 **Leon:** you're a bit late mate

 **Serge:** ESST UNALLAUBICH

 **Leroy:** wha-

 **Leon:** es ist unglaublich

 **Leroy:** how you translate that damn

 **Leroy:** it's not THAT unbelievable i am an attractive man and great father material

 **Serge:** LEROY GIVING BRTIH TO A CHILD

 **Leroy:** well... its not me doing that but so to speak, yes

 **Serge:** SO CUTE

 **Serge:** WE STAN

 **Leroy:** THANK YOU SERGE

 **Jerome:** CAN I BE GODFATHER

 **Marc-Andre:** Jerome do you WANT to fight

 **Jerome:** LIKE YOU COULD TAKE ME YOU FUCKING PUSSY

 **Marc-Andre:** I-

 **Jerome:** ROB AND I CAN BABYSIT LIKE WE BABYSIT LEON SOMETIMES

 **Leroy:** bro i live in manchester

 **Jerome:** TONI LIVES IN MADRID

 **Leroy:** i cant think about godfathers and stuff now my brain would EXPLODE

 **Marc-Andre:** WHY WOULD IT EXPLODE IT'S AN EASY DECISION I'M THE GODFATHER

 **Jerome:** LIKE HELL YOU ARE

 **Marc-Andre:** YOU DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THE BABY EXISTED

 **Jerome:** YOU'RE NOT EMOTIONALLY STABLE ENOUGH TO BE A GODFATHER

 **Marc-Andre:** HEY

 **Leroy:** oh my lord

 **Niklas:** Guys calm down Leroy is pregnant you'll mess with his hormones

 **Niklas:** We need to give him a calm and soothing atmosphere

 **Leroy:** yes please my Anxiety gives candice Anxiety so it's a circle of Anxiety

 **Leroy:** i don't want my baby to be born in Anxiety

 **Marc-Andre:** Why not she has to get used to it if I'm going to be the godfather

 **Leroy:** oh my god

 **Leroy:** guys ground me in familiarity

 **Marco:** we'll do that by winning 4-0 against france

 **Leroy:** good shout

 **Leroy:** it's familiarity because i won't be playing

 **Jerome:** if i make a goal line clearance i am the godfather

 **Marc-Andre:** FUCK OFF

 **Marc-Andre:**  I make a penalty save I am the godfather

 **Leroy:** guys NO

 **Leroy:** this is NOT how we make complex emotional decisions that require candice's approval too

 **Bernd:** leroy don't worry

 **Bernd:** you won't have to choose either of them

 **Jerome:** wait what the fuck

 **Bernd:** i will be in goal, so ter stegen won't be able to make a penalty save

 **Bernd:** and, well, boateng making a goal line clearance?

 **Bernd:** maybe that'll happen

 **Bernd:** but at the opposite end of the pitch

 **Marc-Andre:** LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL

 **Marc-Andre:** You know what that comment was perfectly in line with how the rest of this day has been

 **Marc-Andre:** Out of touch with fucking reality

 **Jerome:** what do we tell him lads

 **Mats:** bernd, you will not play in germany's goal, nor will you ever play in germany's goal?

 **Jerome:** yeah, that's what i was thinking! thanks, mats!

 **Leroy:** ahhhh this is more like it

 **Leroy:** this is what my daughter will be exposed to

 **Leroy:** i am suddenly overwhelmed by the realisation of what my life is going to be like from now on

 **Leroy:** ha... ha...

 **Toni:** It'll pass eventually.

 **Toni:** But it's pretty bad for the first year.

 **Miro:** It will return by the time she turns si

 **Miro:** six

 **Miro:** Parenting is hard Leoy

 **Miro:** Very hard

 **Leroy:** thanks for letting me know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://talksport.com/football/420264/leroy-sane-birth-daughter-pulling-out-germany-friendly-peru/  
> leroy did leave the international break for the birth of his daughter in real life!!!! it was cute,,,, so i decided to input it, because leroy basically hasn othing going for him in this team so he has a hot girlfriend and a sweet little girl (or he will have one) to make him less of ajoke... i did leroy so dirty in this fic lmao everyone clowns him so much and nobody knows anything about him esigheigeg. it was meant to be a comedy bit and not actually serious its not got no bearing on the plot really lmao and it wasnt set up at all but thats the p o i n t leroy just came oout and silenced all the clownery
> 
> but it was so bad lol. i hate myself
> 
> i cant believe the france match is actually incoming yall.
> 
> i close my eyes when typing some of serges lines
> 
> LAST MINUTE WIN OVER THE ORANGE CUNTSSSSSSSSSSSSSS


	68. Chapter 68

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 23!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus leute
> 
> sorry this one took so long, it's kind of a monster and shit's happened. someone got murdered near where i live, someone i know. i'm tired and my sister is the worst and injury remains terrible and so... forgive me if there are aspects of this chapter you don't like, or even if you don't like all of it because i don't as per usual it's SO messy
> 
> the next couple of chapters will finally be bringing us to the france match. this isn't the pre-matchday chap tho
> 
> i know this technically isn't a dedication chapter but i have to dedicate it anyway. this one is to the beautiful now 20 year old mariangela, who is my online best friend who i love so much, who has made my life better and deserves so much more than a fic dedication . i love you girlie :)
> 
> what an absolutely ridiculous and incredible game that was vs heidenheim, my tired heart actually was revived (albeit in the worst way possible that was so agonising) BUT GOOD END RESULT TO THE SEMI FINALS, WHO WILL BE PLAYING IN BERLIN!!!
> 
> COME ON WERDER!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> if hamburg go on to win the whole thing... i won't even be surprised

When Wojciech returned to the hotel after a day of gruelling and unfulfilling work in the performance centre, the common room was mostly empty. He could guess, from the uncharacteristic silence and gloominess from the few teammates who were unenthusiastically watching Lichtenstein face off against Italy, that the first team's training session hadn't gone well again.

Lukasz Fabianski saw Wojciech lingering in the doorway, and confirmed his suspicions in a remarkably succinct manner- "San Marino could take us with confidence."

That was very encouraging, especially given that their match against Portugal, who had turned them inside out the last international break, was tomorrow.

"Nice. So are we officially the Scotland of Eastern Europe? How low is our bar set, now?" Wojciech asked, as Jan Bednarek suddenly let out a groan of despair and slid off of the sofa and onto the floor with no further input. "Do we not even have the rank of the plucky underdog, anymore?"

"There is no bar, Wojciech," Lukasz said tiredly. "Nobody has expectations of us anymore. An offside goal would be massively overachieving for us tomorrow. Jerzy is at the end of his tether."

"He gave Robs a  _flogging,_ today," Kamil Glik said solemnly. "Railed at him in front of the entire squad, all because he couldn't finish a close-range shot. I've never seen him like that, and I've never seen Robs look so depressed. He just stood there, with his face pale and eyes on the ground. It was humiliating."

Wojciech pressed his fingertips against his eyes as if to ward off a bright light. "Jesus Christ. That's exactly what Robs needs right now, to get beaten down by Jerzy, when he's already so demoralised he can barely take a shot. Jerzy is a truly inspiring manager, right?"

They all understood that their coach was frustrated- they all shared the fucking sentiment, after all. But the manager was meant to steady the ship and calm his men down, not send it rocking wildly in the already turbulent waters by roaring at them constantly whenever they made the smallest of mistakes. The lack of any sort of harmony in the team was only made worse by their manager tearing them apart- nobody was having any fun anymore, nobody had the slightest semblance of confidence or belief, and that made them even  _more_ disjointed on the pitch.

"What the hell are Portugal going to do to us?" Lukasz Pisczek said glumly. "Robs is too nervous to play well on the pitch, and anyway, our tactics mean that he won't get any service. If he gets no service he won't score, if he doesn't score he'll get criticised, if he gets criticised he'll get more nervous, rinse and repeat. It's a mess."

"We been knew, it's the Polish National Team," Fabianski muttered grimly.

"I'll talk to Robs," Wojciech said decisively. "Or hopefully Jeri can do his thing and make him feel better for tomorrow."

"Ha! Good luck with that. He hasn't left his room since we got back," Pisczek sighed. "We should just wipe the slate on this international break and wait for the next one, nothing's coming out of this. Or we can hope it's bad enough that Jerzy gets fired."

There were a few contemplative murmurs. The Polish National Team, with the 6-0 defeat versus Portugal, the 3-1 defeat versus the Czech Republic (the friendly Robert had missed due to his red card) and the 2-0 defeat versus Italy, were one bad result away from being declared to be in a crisis situation, which usually meant the dismissal of _someone_. Portugal was likely to be the team that gave them the push.

Wojciech left the common room with a couple of players wishing him luck about Robert. In a way that was a little selfish, Wojciech was actually somewhat glad he was injured- he could be separated from how awful and disconnected the National Team was at the moment because he wasn't playing. Poor Fabianski was now the new Aunt Sally, though. And Robert.

At first glance, there was no sight of Robert when Wojciech entered the hotel room. Wojciech frowned- usually Robert was sprawled out on his bed, talking to Jerome after he had had a bad day. But then his ears picked up the sound of sobbing and he turned his head towards the bathroom.

"Robs?" Wojciech called warily, walking towards the bathroom door and rapping on it gently. "Robs, are you okay?" 

There was a strangled noise in response. Wojciech frowned.

"Right, I'm coming in," he said firmly.

Wojciech opened the door- it wasn't locked- and walked inside. And then he sighed. Kneeling over the toilet with his face white and his chest heaving was Robert, desperate and hyperventilating.

"Jesus, Robs."

Robert was gasping as though he had been running his heart out in a Champions League match, although there was not a glimpse of any sort of heart from him at the moment. He looked up at Wojciech almost ashamedly, knowing how pathetic he looked in such a position, but he couldn't bring himself to summon any sort of facade. He was spent.

Wojciech knelt down beside Robert, placing one hand on the back of his neck, murmuring some reassuring words. Robert squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to process anything besides the deafening roar of blood in his ears, the rattling percussion of his pulse. Humiliation and anger from the events of today's disastrous training session were drowning him. He tried to think of Jerome giving him a diagonal cross, of his foot connecting with the ball and hearing it smash against the net, but a dozen images of near-misses seeped into his mind, and they wouldn't go away. The sound of jeering and whistling and Jerzy screaming at him was louder than Wojciech's soothing whispering, the feeling of Buffon's gentle hand on his shoulder felt more real than the uncomfortable pressure of the bathroom tiles under his knees-

"You're alright, Robs," Wojciech said wearily, after several minutes of Robert trying to regain control of himself. "You're alright. We'll get through this, just like we have millions of times before. Another game, another loss. It'll get better."

Robert made a sound that was a cross between a choked sob and a laugh. "An own goal."

"Five goals in nine minutes," Wojciech said mildly back.

"Giving away possession."

"Highest ever foreign Bundesliga scorer."

" _Useless._ "

"Polish player of the year for like the past decade," Wojciech offered. "Highest ever Polish goalscorer. Best player of the Euros qualifiers. Oh, yeah, highest goalscorer for those too, are you noticing a pattern? You're the only reason this country isn't on the same level as, like, Malta in terms of football."

"Oh, shut up," Robert laughed, and then he dissolved into a fresh round of sobbing. 

Wojciech gave Robert a small slap upside the head. "Look, Robs, I get why you're panicking, honestly, I would be too if I was in your position. In no uncertain terms, tomorrow is going to be the day when someone gets sacked."

"Damn right. It'll probably be me. Jerzy will stop calling me up."

"Yeah, no. Jerzy won't be calling anyone up if we get demolished tomorrow. The PZPN won't put up with another heavy loss," Wojciech said flatly. "Unless they're waiting for the Euros qualifiers to see if Jerzy can recover anything from this flaming shipwreck. But given that it's been the same story for a couple of years now, I doubt they'll give him the chance. He'll most likely be gone."

"And then what?" Robert asked. "What would happen then?"

"Two things could happen. We could get a coach that's tactically competent, or we could get a downgrade. But that'll be left up to happy chance."

"Chance, my good old friend, that directs a clearance into the back of the net and a penalty shot straight into Patricio's hands."

"Give Patricio a little more credit, it was a good reaction save," Wojciech said wryly. Robert gave him a filthy look. "Come on, as a keeper, I appreciate a good penalty save. Look, Rob. You've just got to go out there tomorrow, look Rolando in the eyes and do what you can. There's nothing else you can do, Robs. You can't make a gourmet meal without sour cream and roux- which in this case is good tactics."

"Or without a good player." 

Wojciech rolled his eyes heartily, not even bothering to respond to this comment. "You should give Jeri a call. You know it'll make yourself feel better. Go into the room, get a good night's sleep, clear your head. Don't go out there tomorrow as if the next match is be all or end all- we're already getting relegated from this league, there's no consequence to this match other than what might happen behind the scenes. Don't put too much weight on this, Robs."

Robert did want to talk to Jerome, and badly. He missed his boyfriend so much it physically hurt, the absence of Jerome's arms around him was akin to missing a vital organ.

He ignored the rest of the advice. His self-loathing wouldn't allow him to act indifferently towards tomorrow's game- in his head, every action he took was of enormous consequence and so, when he inevitably fucked it all up, he felt worse about it.

Wojciech helped Robert stand up- his hyperventilation had left him feeling dizzy and he found it difficult to move his own limbs. Wojciech told him he was going to get him some food and water from the kitchen. Robert had skipped dinner, because he hadn't wanted to be with the rest of the team. Robert flopped miserably onto his bed and switched on the TV- unfortunately, Italy versus Lichtenstein was on, and the Italians were currently at a  _goalless draw._

Even  _Lichtenstein_ was putting up more of a fight than they had done.

Robert immediately got up from his bed again, unable to bear watching a single successful pass, and went outside to sit on the balcony. The sun was dipping in the Portuguese sky, and Lisbon really looked spectacular, with a tapestry of lights strewn out across the cityscape. The air was lovely and warm but Robert just felt cold and drained. Tomorrow he would be heading into  _Estádio da Luz,_ Benfica's jewel of a stadium, where he was going to be forced to fight against the tide of disillusionment that had consumed the team by trying not to appear totally defeated by this raging Portuguese side.

It would have been easier to win the Champions League with VFB Stuttgart.

Robert reached into his pocket for his phone with trembling hands. When he called Jerome, Jerome picked up at once, in his usual reliable fashion. His boyfriend was wearing a sunny grin, but when he saw Robert's downcast disposition, his smile faded at once.

"Rob..." he murmured, taking in how pale Robert was, how bloodshot his eyes were. 

"Jeri," Robert said, in a hearty voice that was so obviously false he dropped it with his next word. "Hey."

"Hey," Jerome said softly. "Baby... what's wro-"

"Don't," Robert said quietly. "Please. You know it all already. I just want to talk about something else. I'll tell you about all _that_ shit after the match tomorrow."

Jerome nodded. "Ok, baby, okay. We can talk about something else."

Robert tipped back in his chair on the terrace, trying to find words to say. Then he flipped his camera around to show Jerome the sunset, partly so he didn't have to show his face.

"It's nearly as beautiful as you," Jerome said with a gentle, appreciative smile. "Meanwhile it's cloudy here in Paris."

"Paris." Robert said the word as if he had never heard it before. "How is it going in Paris, Jeri? How are you? How's the team? Any news on Leroy?"

He was speaking so fast his words came out all wrong, and he was sure his usually very good German was incomprehensible right now. Nevertheless, Jerome understood every word, as he always did- hell, he could even understand Robert when he was talking Polish. Once Robert had spent twenty minutes ranting in Polish about someone making a bad turn on the road, missing his and Jerome's BMW by a matter of inches, and had realised afterwards that Jerome probably hadn't understood a word he had said. When he had apologised, Jerome had said, in perfect Polish-

_Gdzie kogut nauczył się prowadzić? Where did the cock learn to drive?_

In Robert's eyes, that was one of the sexiest things Jerome had ever done.  _One_ of them. Jerome was a very sexy man, after all.

"Leroy's girlfriend- his fucking  _girlfriend-_ " Jerome said the words as though they physically made him sick. "-hasn't gone into labour yet. But it's probably going to be really soon. His little girl will be born soon. How bonkers is that?"

"A little girl. Have you persuaded Leroy to give you godfather privileges yet?" Robert asked, a teasing edge to his voice.

"No. Ter Stegen and I are going to battle for it, through blood and sweat and tears. The winner will be the godfather," Jerome said haughtily. "We all know I'm the real warrior here, so Rio Stella Jerome Sané will end up having a great role model to look up to."

That was a truly awful middle name, but Robert knew better than to tell Jerome that. "You're already a role model to Leon."

"True. But I want everyone to look up to me, Robbi," Jerome said. "Oh! Speaking of Leon, Jessica's arrived in Paris, and she's going to bring Leon to the hotel soon, to see Toni. I think Miro's kids are coming too. We've got an evening off before the match, with nothing to do otherwise, so it's going to be pretty fun."

"That's cool, say hi to him from me," Robert said. He liked Leon Kroos, a cute, curious and shy little kid but also a bright one. "How is Toni?"

Jerome's expression was knowing- he knew that Robert was speaking for the sake of speaking and trying to distract himself from the buzzing inside of his head. But he indulged his boyfriend, acting as though everything was normal. People needed different things at different moments, sometimes they needed to vent, sometimes they needed a distraction, there was no singular answer for everything. Jerome and Robert never tried to find that answer- they just gave each other what they needed at that moment.

"Toni is Toni," he said wryly. "A bitter little bitch. Nah, I'm kidding, he seems to be in more of a good mood than ever, really. Maybe it's because I've been so mopey missing you, or maybe it's because he's found a new friend in Jonas. They've been really buddying it up recently."

"There's an unlikely pairing," Robert muttered. "Toni and Hector. Well, mixed popcorn is a thing."

"A damn good thing, too," Jerome agreed. "I want to ask Jess something about those two when she arrives, her instincts are usually perfect."

Robert raised his eyebrows. "You don't think..."

Jerome shrugged. "I know my bro. He's been different. More open. There's got to be a reason for that, no?"

"Yeah..." Robert was suddenly tired, too tired to engage with gossip. But he fought to keep his focus. "Maybe that will help him on the pitch tomorrow. Maybe Hector will be popping again too. I saw his highlights from the last match. You think he can do that tomorrow?"

"You can't really say. Not everyone can keep up the heat for consecutive matches running. And that's okay. I don't want to pile any unrealistic expectations on him. Most likely he'll be his usual reliable self."

"Fair enough..." Robert's breathing was now shallow. Why the fuck was it shallow? _His usual reliable self. Why couldn't he be like that?_ "You'll be more than reliable, though. You'll carry the team. I know it."

"As always," Jerome said quietly. He had noticed Robert was suddenly breathing a little too quickly. When Robert didn't say anything more, his brow furrowed. 

But he didn't say anything either. He just watched Robert, whose eyes had travelled outwards, back at the lights of Lisbon. The two of them sat in silence. And it wasn't awkward, even though they were on a call and Robert's eyes had inexplicably filled with tears again. Jerome's presence was a grain of comfort in itself. Silence was enough.

Robert just wished Jerome was with him right now in the _flesh_. To hold him. To be with him to see those beautiful lights. 

"I want you," Robert said finally, after several minutes of this silence- there was a quaver in his voice that almost made him break, but he held himself together. "I want you with me, Jeri."

"I know," Jerome murmured. "Just a few more days."

"That's a few years in real time."

"A few centuries, you mean. Yeah, it's hard. I'm alone in my room now, seeing as Leroy's gone. And that's even worse. But we'll manage it, darling." Jerome blew Robert a kiss. "And then we'll go back to the league and you'll score a hattrick against Schalke."

"If your brother doesn't try to gut me on the pitch," Robert murmured. 

Jerome shook his head. "Don't worry. He'll be trying to do that to me."

"Yeah, he will be, if he's got a death wish." 

There was a shout in the background before Jerome could say anything- " _Jeri, Leon and Jess have arrived!"_ and Jerome looked away from Robert's penetrating gaze and behind him. When he looked back at Robert, his mouth open to say something, Robert held up his hand.

"Go, Jeri. Give Toni and Leon my love. Have fun," he said simply. 

"Will you be okay?" Jerome asked uncertainly. "Have you eaten anything? Are you drinking water?"

Robert rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ, Jeri, I'm damn near thirty years old, next you'll be telling me to turn my head towards the sun. I have Wojciech to worry over me, don't worry your beautiful head too. I'll talk to you later. I love you."

"I love you too," Jerome said anxiously, clearly torn between a desire to help Robert and a desire to give him space. "I'll talk to you later, sweetheart. Take care of yourself."

"Natürlich," Robert said exasperatedly. Then he made a kissing face at the camera and Jerome reciprocated. Then, after a few moments of dithering, the screen flickered off as Jerome hung up.

Robert stared at the blank screen and then switched his phone off, returning his gaze to Lisbon's skyline.

***

_Private chat between Leon Goretzka and Serge Gnabry_

**Leon:** heyyy sergi xx

 **Leon:** how's it hanging

 **Serge:** hiiiii leooo!! <3

 **Serge:** it's hagning off a fucking cliff

 **Serge:** james ate an entire pack of bwockwurst in my fridge, that's like 13 bockwurst

 **Serge:** the paainkkillers he's on fucking makes him capable of eating niklas

 **Leon:** jesus christ he is going to get fat

 **Leon:** then he is going to go even deeper down the health hole

 **Serge:** im telling him you said that

 **Leon:** if you do i'll be eaten alongside niklas

 **Leon:** calling james fat is like telling manu he's overly conservative with his positioning

 **Serge:** is that a thing????

 **Leon:** believe me thomas really knows what buttons of manu's to push

 **Leon:** i worry for his safety sometimes

 **Serge:** manu can stamp us out like cocorakrchaes but homas is alwags misterously safe......

 **Serge:** is cute that manau is so soft w him tho

 **Leon:** cocorakrchaes 

 **Leon:** ja theyre super cute tbh

 **Leon:** i'm kind of worried about manu tho

 **Serge:** omg i actualy dont know how tos pel it

 **Serge:** warum??

 **Leon:** c o c k r o a c h e s jesus christ sergi

 **Serge:** u said 'cock'

 **Leon:** well hes been ill recently and ive barely seen him i think hes just been holed up in his room or something

 **Leon:** like hes probably sick bc mats had the flu too but idk it just feels weird

 **Leon:** he's been kind of?? un-manu-like??? you know how he's been during training sometimes, like just looking really tired and shit?

 **Serge:** god now i feel like a fukcing cunt

 **Serge:** yeah i know i ntoiced that manu is like,, less ffocused and stuff now

 **Serge:** i mean he si still terfiying but i get teh vibe that hes going through a difficult time meantally 

 **Serge:** is nothing to be ahshamed of, but i imagine he wwould try to hide it + e gets a lot of pressuue anyway

 **Serge:** so it would make things worse 

 **Serge:** i hope hes ok :(

 **Leon:** i get that

 **Leon:** we get like two emotions from manuel neuer

 **Leon:** anger or apathy

 **Serge:** athapy is the asbence of emotion tho

 **Leon:** talking to you is the absence of basic literacy education

 **Serge:** talking to you is the absece of light because all you do is are shade

 **Leon:** concept 8/10

 **Leon:** execution stuttgart's goal difference

 **Serge:** Actually, the lowest goal differential in the league belongs to Hannover 96 now. Therefore, your roast did not reach its full potential, and I am unaffected.

 **Leon:** man i wondered if u were taking a shower how long did it take u to type that

 **Serge:** longer han i care to admid >:(

 **Serge:** anway stop being a little bitch leo

 **Serge:** we out here beign worried about our scary capitain

 **Leon:** yeah i know but honestly i don't think there is anything we can do about it. the last thing manu would do is turn to younger members of the team or say anything at all so we just have to hope thomas is out there being the Best Boyfriend he is and helping him

 **Serge:** i think he is

 **Serge:** evryone in the team is so suspsortive, like coup,es, like jeri and rob

 **Serge:** thomas is the type of person who lives and dies for his boyfriend too

 **Serge:** and manu is so mentally strong, even if he is withstaindg pressure im sure he can bounce back

 **Leon:** still, i hope he's getting a lot of help

 **Serge:** i do too, not everyone can hold up a defence alone for so long, yo u know?

 **Leon:** everyone needs someone to lean on 

 **Serge:** genau

 **Serge:** youve got me if you need it, leo :)

 **Leon:** and youve got me, sergi :)

 **Serge:** SO FARANCE MATCH SOON!!!!

 **Serge:** how are ur feeling, whats the general mood

 **Leon:** oh i'm coasting honestly

 **Leon:** not like im gonna be doing anything

 **Leon:** we'll be fine like france arent that impressive

 **Serge:** germany 2-2 draw with a marjor injury now caling it

 **Serge:** well done leo

 **Leon:** ur right i dont know why i spoke

 **Leon:** you want to know the real tea tho

 **Leon:** and it isn't to do with the beautiful oliviere girouds team

 **Serge:** beautiful?

 **Leon:** yes, beautiful, gorgeous, sensuous

 **Serge:** i wasnr aware thhat was an Opinon about him

 **Leon:** you were his fucking teammate sergi how are you not aware of it

 **Serge:** idk??? he was Just... oliveri... not that s taunnng

 **Leon:** what he is stunning

 **Leon:** anyway spend five minutes with havertz next break and you'll be more than aware

 **Leon:** anyway dont u want to know the TEA

 **Serge:** yes

 **Leon:** philipp fucking lahm and his mysterious ways 

 **Serge:** PHILLIPP

 **Serge:** dint u say he met with ba reall boring man yesterday

 **Leon:** according to basti and lukas

 **Leon:** but i have several factors that point towards odd behaviour 

 **Serge:** like wha?

 **Leon:** well, yesterday i said y'allstd've when talking to a collective group and not a comment escaped his lips

 **Leon:** i also whipped whilst looking him directly in the eyes and his eyelids didn't even contort 

 **Serge:** damn that is

 **Leon:** that is what

 **Serge:** i dont want to rite it 

 **Leon:** go on do it

 **Leon:** spell the word

 **Serge:** s u s p i c i o u s

 **Leon:** im so proud now write that in less than 2 minutes

 **Serge:** i hate you

 **Leon:** <3

 **Leon:** all the old men on this team are so Suspicious

 **Leon:** apart from basti and lukas they've somehow remained the exact same level of idiot for over a decade

 **Serge:** dedcation

 **Serge:** i think that fisp isnt as copmosed as he things

 **Serge:** i theink that if u have a e u p h o r i c aftter party after thr game then

 **Leon:** potential drunk fips leaking secrets?

 **Serge:** we saw him h u l a h o o p i n g 

 **Serge:** he has absolutely no self cotnrol

 **Serge:** i think u could get something out of him leo

 **Leon:** oh my god uve reminded me i neec to get a hula hoop for tomorrow

 **Leon:** that is actually a solid game plan, unlike what kovac comes out with

 **Leon:** i will get him drunk and discover the truth of his sexual orientation

 **Serge:** a Plan that wil benefit future g e n e r a t i o n s 

 **Serge:** and you dondtt have to wait that laong it's only tomorow

 **Serge:** i will be waching with james btw!!!!!!!!!

 **Serge:** mmw you will find a way to score and beautifully so

 **Leon:** <3333 thank you 

 **Leon:** im surprised james hasnt started his group chat assault on us yet lmao

 **Serge:** hes taking a nap hell probbly do it when he wakes up lmfao

 **Leon:** cant wait to see what logic his petty brain manages to conjure up to make us look bad this time

 **Serge:** if kingley or franck doesn't score he will say its becase they plays for a club nder kovac

 **Leon:** word for word predicted the future arent you a prophet

 **Leon:** sergi i have to go now :(

 **Leon:** my namesake (tonis kid) and miros kids are visiting it's W i l d !! ill talk to you later

 **Leon:** byeeee xxxxxxxx

 **Leon:** can't wait to see you again :) xx

 **Serge:** omg luna and naho

 **Serge:** and little leon

 **Serge:** impart good life lessons on him my good bitch

 **Serge:** and i can't wait to see youa again too :)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))) xx

 **Serge:** keep me updated on phillllipp tea

 **Serge:** byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee leoooo !! xxxxxx 

***

If Miro was ever stripped down to his underwear and locked in a bare room, he'd be able to take on all comers with nothing but his downright lethal hairy eyeball.  It certainly wasn't a thing one could ignore. He'd been giving it to Mario for the better part of a day now. Miro tried to keep it to himself, but it was not unlike trying to conceal a crossbow under a light summer sundress. Mario kept catching it when Miro didn't think he was looking: across the dinner table whilst Mario shovelled rice into his mouth, on the way to the common room where Marco and Benni were loudly and vehemently arguing about something or another, when Mario flopped onto a sofa dramatically and accidentally elbowed Jonas in the chin.

" _What?_ " Mario burst out at last, once he had finished apologising to Jonas for having inadvertantly injured him twice now. "For the love of Günter Netzer, Miro,  _what the hell is it?_ "

 Jonas looked at Mario in surprise, for although he had been sitting with them for most of the evening, he hadn't noticed Miro's secret weapon being employed. Thomas, who was also with them, quirked an eyebrow- although he got it full force several times a day for any number of reasons- noisily chewing gum, fidgeting incessantly with some bit of stitching coming loose on his jersey, not pulling up his socks- he had never noticed it and so far it had not had one molecule of effect on his behaviour. 

Which was a shame. Because Thomas was the one who _really_ needed to heed the dire threat Miro's weaponised stare held.

As far as Mario was concerned, however, the  _hairy eyeball_ was nothing short of supernatural power and he wished fervently he had it himself. Miro giving him  _that look_  was like having a bucket of live ants poured down his spine. It was better than anything Fips could come out with. 

Miro couldn't feign a look of innocence for long. He sighed. "Is something on your mind, Mario?"

Mario collapsed in a heap on the carpet of the common room- Toni, who was leaving the common room, because Jessica had just pulled up outside the hotel, stepped over him without even blinking. 

"That's what bugging you?" the Stuttgart striker groaned. "You're worried that  _something's on my mind?_ "

"I'm always worried about you," Miro informed him, as Thomas rolled his eyes- typical Miro with his incessant  _concern_ for others. "You've been twitchy all day. When I told you Sylwia was going to be visiting you damn near decapitated Jonas."

Mario rolled onto his back and apologised to Jonas again. Jonas waved a vague hand, various words of forgiveness already on the tip of his tongue.

"I'm not twitchy," Mario said sullenly, when he rolled over again.

"You're always twitchy," Thomas said, as Fips separated Marco and Benni' yelling match, roaring at them that a small child was about to appear in the hotel, and that they were  _not_ going to fight in front of him. "It's his personality. Twitchy, jumpy, nervous, prone to voice cracks..."

Jonas, on the other hand, was inclined to agree with Miro. While Mario was indeed a nervous character, his usual distracted energy today was bordering on outright agitation. And, of course, when he saw Mario in such a state he was brought back to that perplexing text conversation they had had some weeks ago... Mario's drunken fear and overwhelmed behaviour... there was definitely something off in his personal life...

Naturally Mario hadn't spoken about that conversation since. And naturally Jonas hadn't been brave enough to enquire about it again. And because Jonas had, surprisingly, not been in the mindset to think about others more than himself recently.

"Yes, thank you for that handy guide to my behaviour, Thomas, I really appreciate it," Mario muttered, with an effective hairy eyeball of his own. "I'm fine, Miro, honestly. I'm excited to see your kids. Thrilled. Your kids!"

Miro narrowed his eyes. But Mario was turned resolutely away, so nobody could see his face. Finally Miro looked away. He had his own things on his mind that momentarily pulled his attention away from Mario. Things that involved Luan and Noah's arrival too...

"I'm looking forward to seeing Luan and Noah again as well," Thomas said with a wide grin that frightened Miro to his core. "And Toni's kid, little Leon, too. It's going to be fun."

"Please don't smile like that. It's absolutely terrifying," Miro said in a hushed voice. Thomas just smiled more widely, and then his smile stretched to its very widest.

"Look who it is!" he said brightly.

Toni had entered the room again, this time accompanied by two guests. One was a little boy, clinging to his hip, with his head buried in Toni's shoulder, and the other was a young woman who was very familiar to the Bayern faces in the group. Jessica Farber, Toni's ex-wife, who had been an absolute stalwart in the Oktoberfest beer pong championships back when Toni had been at Bayern, waved at the group of players who called out greetings to her.

"Hey, hey, hey," Jessica said cheerfully, even though she looked absolutely exhausted. "We decided to drop by, so Leon could see Toni. Also, to wish you guys luck for tomorrow."

"It's good to see you, Jessica," Fips said solemnly, extending a hand for a handshake. Jessica ignored it and went in for the hug. Then she hugged Basti and Lukas too.

Thomas darted up to say a hello to Leon- Toni saw his approach, remembered his nightmare and recoiled.  Sami, who had been dozing lightly on a sofa with Mesut sitting on his legs, blinked awake and, kicking Mesut off of him, went to give the boy a high-five. Lots of players were cooing over him, especially those who hadn't seen him before, and naturally the boy tried to hide away from the attention, burying his head in Toni's shoulder.

Big Leon was holding his fingertips against his temples as if he was drawing energy from his surroundings. It turned out he was making a prediction. "This kid is going to become an incredible midfielder. I feel it in my bones. He is my namesake, after all."

"We did  _not_ name him after you," Toni told Leon, who blithely ignored him. "And if he's going to be an incredible midfielder for any reason, it's going to be because he has me as a dad."

"Why would him being your namesake mean he turns out to be an incredible midfielder?" Kai, the second youngest person in the room, piped up brightly. "Surely it would mean he would end up being on the same sort of level as, like, Xhaka!"

Leon squatted and bellowed between cupped hands, " _MARC-ANDRE!_ " 

"Yes?" Marc-Andre called.

Jerome, who had just appeared in the common room looking somewhat sad, strode up to Jessica and seized her into a friendly headlock. For a moment Toni's two closest companions had a miniature wrestling match before Jessica finally broke free and hit Jerome with her handbag. Laughing and insulting each other, they turned just in time to see Jonas approaching Toni and Leon.

"Look, it's Jonas!" Toni said coaxingly to his tired and shy son. He jogged Leon up and down on his hip. "You remember Jonas, don't you, little lion?"

Leon looked at his father as if he had just insulted his intelligence. "Yeah."

"Hi, Leon," Jonas murmured, looking at the little boy who had nothing but curiosity and simple pleasure in his eyes. He didn't really know what else to say. 

"Want to hold him?" Toni said, offering Leon to Jonas. Leon reached out his arms to show he was in favour of the move. 

Jonas looked somewhat startled, but then he held out his own arms and took Leon into them. He still handled Leon delicately, but there was a sense that he was less self-conscious now. Leon was now looking around at his group of admirers, the wrestling  big Leon and Kai and his parents and honourary uncle inquisitively.

Marco and Benni were the only ones not part of this happy little scene. They were sitting well away from each other, both of them too incensed to do any sort of meeting or greeting. Marco's reason for not going up to say hi to Leon also extended to the fact that the boy was in Jonas' arms, and Marco would have sooner surgically removed his own testicles than stand before Jonas for a sustained period of time. 

"What happened to your nose?" Leon asked, pointing at the bruise across Jonas' nose. 

"That was my fault," Mario Gomez, who was now on his feet to greet Jessica, with Miro behind him, said sheepishly. "I kicked a ball into his face by accident."

Leon looked at Mario as if he were the source of all evil in the world. Jonas gave one of his explosive laughs in surprise, because such a venomous look from such a small child... he really was his father's son. Toni was grinning radiantly at his son seeming so comfortable with Jonas, and in return, Jonas seeming so comfortable with his son.

It was easier to be with children. They held no sort of judgement, no sort of emotional intelligence that could have sussed out that Jonas had barely been holding himself together for days.

Jerome elbowed Jessica and gave her a knowing look, and Jessica elbowed him back and gave him an even more knowing look. Soon they had both forgotten the point of their careful observation and were just elbowing each other like children. 

Jerome eventually took Leon from Jonas' hold, jogging him on his hip and giving him a kiss on the forehead, before he started spinning the boy around in circles. Marc-Andre was watching him through narrowed eyes. The ease with which he handled Leon and the protective force he seemed to emanate came naturally to him, and Leon was giggling in delight. He couldn't say that  _he_ had the same charm with children. Would this be held against Marc-Andre when Leroy did his evaluation for who should be the godfather?

"Hey, you stay away from him," Toni said in a jokingly threatening voice, as Marc-Andre approached. "I don't want a Barcelona scumbag anywhere near my son."

"It'll make him a better human!" Marc-Andre protested. 

Leon seemed to recognise the goalkeeper and peered at him suspiciously. Given that Clasicos were such a high-profile event, they were enough to be branded into even Leon's short-term memory and Leon had naturally inherited a Madridista's disdain of anything related to the Catalan team.

"Do you know him, Leon?" Jerome asked, pointing at Marc-Andre, who stood awkwardly in front of him and felt as though he were under an inordinate amount of scrutiny from the two year old. "Do you know what his name is?"

Leon nodded, looking unimpressed. "He plays for  _Barca._ "

And then he turned his head and buried it into Jerome's shoulder. Jerome looked at Marc-Andre with an eyebrow quirked challengingly.

"Let's hope you can interact with Rio Stella Jerome Sané a little better than that, eh?" he said softly. 

Marc-Andre spluttered indignantly. He couldn't do much else.

With all the other players playing with Leon and Toni keeping an eye on him too, Jessica had finally gotten the chance to sit down in peace. They weren't going to be staying long, they had to go back to their own hotel soon, but even a short visit would boost Toni before the game tomorrow. Their little football holiday had reminded Jessica of the good old days, especially with Germany's recent rampant success. She had a funny little thought, what on Earth would Leon be like if he had been born to see the 2014 World Cup?

She looked towards Jonas, her new object of interest when it came to her daily mission in making fun of Toni. Jonas hadn't been around during that World Cup either, although he was only a year younger than Toni- possibly because he had arrived on the Bundesliga scene late. But Jessica did know him.

When they had first moved to Madrid, following Toni's transfer from Bayern after the World Cup win and the treble, and leaving all of his close friends behind, Toni had been terribly homesick. He never really spoke about it, putting on his usual stoic 'emotional range of a teaspoon' face and refusing to engage in any sort of conversation about it, but Jessica had seen it all the time. He had started watching unhealthy amounts of the Bundesliga- any match he possibly could, from his old team, to the minnows like Stuttgart and Hannover, and, in particular, FC Köln. Köln came ninth that season, with the help of their very own Mr.Reliable- one Jonas Hector.

Jonas had played all but one game of that season and Toni watched nearly all of them. So Jessica did know Jonas Hector, yes. That was why it was a little strange to see the man standing near her ex-husband, or holding her son- it almost felt like he should only have been on a screen in a white and red jersey.

She was happy to see her husband was making new friends, even though he and Jonas had technically been on the team for a few years together. She knew that Toni tended to be... a little abrasive sometimes, and pretty shy, and wasn't the type to go making friends with everyone on the squad. Jessica had known Jerome for years, for example, but she had very minimal contact with some of the others in the National Team. Apparently Jonas was different.

"Hey," she said to the defender, who didn't look as fiery in person as he did on the pitch, with his hands placed behind his back, standing at the edge of the group. "I'm guessing you're the one that's been putting that smile on Toni's face recently?"

Jonas looked startled at being addressed by Jessica and looked even more startled by what she had just asked him.

"Uh," he said comprehensively. 

Jessica patted the space next to her. "Hey, sit.  I'm too tired to stand so we can actually make eye contact. It's what happens when you take a flight with a two year old in tow."

Jonas looked even more flustered, as if she had just asked him to remove his own eyes. But he sat next to her anyway, and mumbled something.

"Sorry, I didn't hear that," Jessica said.

"Sorry." Jonas was fidgeting with one of the rings on his hand, twisting it around and around. "Toni told me Leon liked planes. So... at least he wouldn't be agitated?"

"Oh, yeah, that's a good point. Different types of chaos have different levels of ease to deal with," Jessica said thoughtfully.  "If he was scared and crying then it would just stress me out even more. At least when he's happy and excitable all I have to worry about is him breaking my knees from all the jumping around he does."

Jonas gave a breathy laugh and looked down at his hands, still compulsively turning his ring. "The... the injuries we get on the pitch pale in comparison to what parenting can do to a person."

"Yeah, so, in a manner of speaking, I should be getting more credit than Toni," Jessica said, watching her husband pulling big Leon's ear for accidentally swearing in the earshot of little Leon. "My day-to-day job is a lot harder than all of yours.  Harder than  _yours_ especially, Jonas, especially since you seem to find football as easy as FIFA in beginner mode."

"Oh, God, no," Jonas said, blushing to the tips of his ears. "I'm... I'm just..."

He waved his hands helplessly, unable to think of anything to say. 

"You're just... a world-class wingback," Jessica filled in for him. "I don't know if you've forgotten, but you scored a hattrick against the Netherlands four days ago. I'm sure the French National Team had a bitter taste in their mouths watching that match."

"I..." Words were a limited resource to Jonas at the best of times, and now he had none at all. Jessica was watching him almost appraisingly, but she didn't seem at all judgemental, even as Jonas flailed uselessly. She just looked curious.

Jerome had come to sit down beside them, looking a little rumpled as Leon had been jumping on his shoulders. Jessica gave him half a glance and then said quietly, so Jonas couldn't hear:

"I'm sure somebody else will be having a sweeter taste in their mouth if you put up a similar performance tomorrow, though..."

Jerome fell onto the floor, Jonas gave him a confused look and helped him back up, and Jessica carefully pursed her lips as her son ran up to her asking her if she had a tissue.

"Of course I do, sweetie," she said, reaching into her bag as Jerome had a fit of coughing and gave Jessica a baleful look. Jonas was still turning his ring, so much so it had begun to rub uncomfortably against his skin. 

 _You're the person who's been putting that smile on Toni's face recently? As fucking if. Soon you're going to be making him pull his hair out, if he isn't_ already _going nuts from how much of a mess you are. Hell, you make yourself want to pull your own hair out. You couldn't hold up a relationship if it was a fucking helium balloon._

She was probably making fun of him.  Jonas knew that if he had met the version of himself that everybody else knew, he would have wanted to punch himself, multiple times in various locations. Not that the version of himself  _he_ knew was any better. Either way the Jonas you got was a losing deal.

His tangled thoughts were interrupted by a sudden explosion of noise from the doorway that could have been heard from the Stade de France, which was really remarkable given the racket the German National Team were making at that moment, and that only meant one thing and one thing only- 

"Oh, dear God," Fips said in a low voice, as Thomas and Marco both suddenly had a glint in their eyes.

Miro had entered the room, having left it a few minutes ago as a taxi had arrived outside the team hotel. Two of his visitors were attached to either side of him- apparently his quiet, reticient genes had somehow led to the creation of pure noise machines. Luan and Noah Klose had been talking their father's ear off from the moment they had latched onto him, but when they saw the rest of the team, talking became incoherent, delighted yelling.

In traditional form, the team responded with some yelling of their own. Little Leon looked startled as his mother held a tissue over his nose and the two twins sprinted into the crowd of players. Marco was on his feet, grinning from ear to ear, Thomas was cheering-

And Mario Gomez was hardly breathing.

Jonas was under the impression that Miro's earlier assertion- that something was on Mario's mind- was right. Jonas watched the striker's expression and was almost sure he saw something like fear in his eyes. But there was something else in there, behind the fear-  _regret._ Or was it...?

"Jesus Christ," Jess said in a low, impressed voice- Jonas jumped, having forgotten she was there. "I said  _I_ was tired, but that's got nothing on what  _Sylwia_ must have been through..."

That was right- Miro had been at Bayern. So Jess probably knew Sylwia from all of that time spent in the Allianz Arena together in the terraces.

Sylwia looked as though she had been on a long voyage throughout many perilous lands. Her eyes were drooping slightly and she was smiling in almost a dreamlike fashion as everyone greeted her, not quite engaged with her surroundings. She was so sleepy she kept patting Fips' head as she gave him a hug in greeting.

Her sons possessed no sign of such lethargy and were sprinting around, hugging everyone they could, and of course, yelling. Miro was trying to keep track of them but had already lost sight of Luan, who had leapt into Marco's arms and was currently climbing onto his shoulders. Noah was being swung up and down by Basti and Lukas, shrieking with laughter.

"Oh, my God," Kai said in a hushed voice, looking at the chaos that had broken out. "How did  _Miro_ make  _those two_? I mean, it's great. They're amazing. I never thought two six year olds could have so much power over Philipp Lahm, just look at him, he looks terrified. But this is something science just can't explain."

Julian was inclined to agree. There was only one possible explanation for why Luan and Noah were like they were... Miro must have been like his sons when he was younger...

Luan launched himself from Marco's shoulders into Thomas' arms, a rather dangerous manouevre that earned him a stern look from Miro, although the man knew his son was in safe hands (well, he would be physically safe, at least). Thomas lifted Luan into the air, grinning at the boy.

"How's my little goalkeeper?" he asked, as Marco ruffled Luan's hair. "You're stopping every shot from the Italians, right? Showing those bast- I mean, those children- that German football reigns supreme?"

Luan only understood a handful of words Thomas had said-  'stopping', 'Italians' and 'supreme'. 

"Yeah!" he chirped. "I'm the best player on the team by _far,_ I'm way better than Noah, and all the other kids! I keep us safe, just like Uncle Manu does! Hey, where is Uncle Manu, Uncle Thomas? I want to tell him about this cool save I made last week!"

Marco let his gaze flicker towards Thomas for a second and saw that the Bavarian's expression, while still thoroughly cheerful, was frozen in place. His eyes almost looked glassy.

"He's... ill, little one," Thomas said. "He's got the flu, and a really runny nose, and so he's even more grumpy than usual. You wouldn't want to see him right now, he looks like an ogre. But you should hear him sneeze, it's so funny, you could hear him from  _Jupiter!_ "

Luan giggled. "Could you hear him from Saturn, or Mars, or Neptune?"

"Yep. You could hear him from _my_ home planet, Luan," Marco said solemnly, and Thomas shot him a grateful look. "You know, the planet I live on away from everyone else, because I'm so much better than them we just can't be in the same place. _And_ because  _I_ can't live on the same planet as a  _Schalker._ "

He made sure to aim this at the still angry Benni, who got up and stalked over to be with Jonas. 

"You don't live on another planet!" Luan laughed. "You live in Dortmund!"

"I don't! I take my space ship down there every game, but I don't live there. Look, ask Mario, he'll tell you," Marco insisted, grabbing his boyfriend from thin air. Mario bent down to give Luan a high-five.

"I can't say what world Marco lives in," he said confidentially to the little boy. "He doesn't tell us anything about it. He doesn't tell anyone about anything."

Noah had left Basti and Lukas and was now approaching Mario Gomez. Mario watched him as though he were his impending doom and not a curious six year old kid.

"Hi, Uncle Mario," Noah chirped, stretching out his arms to him. Mario bent down to pick him up, giving him a little playful shake before placing the child on his hip.

"Hi, Noah," he said softly. Pushing the boy's blond hair back, giving him a tap on the nose. "How are you, my boy?"

"Fine. I'm not sleepy at _all,_ " Noah said cheerily.

Mario smiled. "I can see that!" 

"I'm really really  _really_ excited about the game tomorrow!" Noah continued, waving his limbs about in a frenetic fashion.  "We've been waiting  _ages_ and  _ages_ to see a Germany game, you know..."

"And now you'll get to watch your Vati tomorrow!" Mario said heartily. "You'll get to sit in the terraces and cheer for his goals with everyone else."

Noah nodded energetically. "Ja! He'd better score loads and loads. I bet Luan one Euro that he would score three, and then I also bet that _you_ would come on and score three too."

Mario cringed. "Oh, good Lord. Who taught you about  _betting_ _?_ "

"Uncle Lukas," Noah said brightly, and Mario winced. "I can win money and watch us win at the same time! It's super cool, don't you think, Uncle Mario?"

 _That_ wasn't the sort of useful lesson you wanted your friends to impart on your kids, Mario thought to himself. He wasn't going to snitch on Lukas, though, Miro would probably find out soon enough anyway.

"Well..." he said hesitantly. "You should know that betting can be silly, and you shouldn't really do it with too much money... And especially not when you're so little... And, you bet I would score three?"

"Yep!" Noah said, clearly not listening to anything that sounded remotely like advice. "Because you're the second best striker in the world!"

_Lord almighty._

"Oh, little one, you might have made a bad investment," Mario said carefully. Noah looked confused. "Not everybody gets to play all the time, Noah, so I might not be able to play against France."

Noah looked downcast.

"But I'll be there next time, for sure!" Mario said quickly, because if there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was disappointed kids... And he always felt remorse tenfold when Miro's kids were involved...

Noah held out his pinky solemnly. "D'you promise?"

"I swear it on Stuttgart's relegation battle," Mario said firmly, locking his finger with the little boy.

And then he felt a powerful wave of guilt that could have knocked him off of his feet. And it had nothing to do with a silly pinky promise.

Reassured by this oath from Mario, Noah jumped down from Mario's arms and went to join Luan in playing with the others. Mario watched him go with his throat rapidly closing up.

The twins were currently regarding little Leon almost quizzically, as if sizing him up in their minds, and Leon was biting on his thumbnail, too shy to go and play with them. The adults watched the display of curiosity with grins on their faces, Luan and Noah didn't seem to know how to interact with Leon, it was almost as though he was from another species.

"You shouldn't arm-wrestle Leon, Luan," Sylwia said, when Luan decided to make the first step by getting onto his knees and stretching his hand out as if to clasp Leon's. "He's only two, he's too little."

"He's not quite as strong as you are, yet," Toni said, his eyes twinkling.

"Oh, I think Leon could take him," Jessica said dismissively. "He's a secret lifter. He's always punching above his weight."

"Yeah, he could probably beat _you_ in an arm-wrestle, Jess," Jerome murmured.

Leon looked perplexed as everyone laughed and Jessica hit Jerome with her handbag again. Luan still looked in the mood for arm-wrestling.

"You can take me on instead, Luan," Marco said, extending his own hand. 

"You'll beat him  _easily,_ Uncle Marco," Noah said dismissively. Luan scowled.

"No, no," Mats said. "I reckon the scales tip in Luan's favour. I mean, look at Reus' matchsticks for arms, in comparison to Luan's beefy pecs."

"Yeah, shut up, Noah, you little bitch," Luan said, to a chorus of indignant adults squawking in a row, and the younger players falling about laughing. "Sorry, Vati, I forgot it was a bad word!"

"You did not," Miro said flatly.

Marco waggled his fingers at Luan enticingly. "Come on, then, Lu. Let's see if you can take me on."

A ring instantly formed around the six year old and the Dortmund captain, and the chanting in Luan's favour immediately begun. Mats offered a few choice adjectives to describe Marco with that Luan repeated gleefully, earning him a stamp on the foot by Fips.

As the cheering began and Marco pretended to suffer great strain being pushed by Luan, a few people lingered on the outside of the circle. Miro, Sylwia, Mario and Jonas to be precise. Sylwia was smiling vaguely as Luan wrestled with Marco's limp hand, but she then looked confused as Miro gently tapped her shoulder.

"What is it?" she asked, as Miro leaned in to talk into her ear.

"Would it be okay if I talked to you outside for a moment?" Miro said softly, so nobody could hear. Not that they would, anyway, they were too engrossed in Marco being 'thrashed' by Luan. 

"Outside?" Sylwia looked towards her son and his violent tussle towards the door. "Now?"

"Yes," Miro murmured. 

He looked nervous.

"Okay, then," Sylwia said, puzzled. Miro gave Mario a quick nod that Mario returned with a look of confusion and led Sylwia out into the corridor, imploring to Fips to  _try_ and keep order in the brief moments they would be outside.

Fips wondered if Miro had taken leave of his senses. Keep order, with  _Luan and Noah_ with the  _German National Team?_

Miro walked a few paces away from the door, so they would be less likely to be overheard. Luan's victory cheers and Noah begging to be the next to take Marco on had exploded from inside the common room, with Mats starting up a rude song about Marco that had Fips grumbling at him again.

"They're excited as all hell," Sylwia sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Bringing them here wasn't going to make it any better. But I suppose it's inevitable anyway, they're already going to be ricocheting all over the walls tomorrow, what's a little extra NT insanity going to do to them? Apart from drive me further up the wall."

Miro laughed a little and rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe I should ask for the lads to be more subdued in their playing tomorrow..."

"Yeah, no. Don't even bother. Even I, in my desperate desire for peace, am not foolish enough to believe that will ever happen."

Miro grinned... but he still looked nervous.

"Well, Miro, what is it?" Sylwia enquired, looking at him in confusion. "Why are you looking like that? Is something wrong?"

Miro waved a hand. "No, no, nothing's wrong. I just wanted to tell you about something." 

"Tell me about what?" Sylwia asked, looking at him expectantly.  Miro was suddenly looking awkward, fidgeting with the frayed cuff of his jumper, his eyes flickering to the carpet.

"It's nothing serious," he said softly, in a tone that was a shade too cautious to reassure Sylwia. "It's just about the game."

Sylwia sighed. "Good God, Miro, are we going to keep bouncing words at each other like it's a fucking tennis match, or are you going to tell me what the hell it is so I can assess how serious it is for myself?"

"Ja, natürlich, entschuldigung. It really is nothing too serious. I just... after the game," Miro muttered. "After the game I've made some arrangements to meet somebody, to get a drink and catch up with them. I know it's late notice and I didn't tell you about it, but I only recently found out they would be in the area during that time..." 

Sylwia said nothing. But the laidback expression on her face had disappeared. And Miro noticed that.

"And- and I really don't get the opportunity to see them much, given that I play in Italy, and international breaks are so far and few between... And I know it conflicts with seeing much of the boys after the game, but- but I'll be taking them for the first few weeks back after the international break anyway, and they'll still be able to see the game, which they'll be happy about..." 

"Why don't you just say who it is?" Sylwia said simply, cutting through his rambling.

Miro closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he kept them firmly on the swirling patterns beneath his feet.

"Why are you skirting around that detail, eh?" Sylwia asked again after a few moments of his silence, her voice level but with a little bite behind it. "Why don't you tell me  _who_ you want to meet with?"

The sarcasm tinging her words confirmed that she had not taken his news particularly well. Miro floundered, having both expected and not expected this sudden hostility...

"It's... a friend," he mumbled. "Just from-" 

"Miroslav."

Miro looked down. "It's Mikey- I mean, Michael. Michael Ballack."

"Yeah," Sylwia said, nodding. "Yeah, I thought so. _Michael Ballack_."

"Look, Sylwia, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It slipped my mind," Miro said, sensing a fight brewing and wanting to avoid it at all costs. "And that's not meant to be an excuse, you can be mad at me-"

"Yeah, I can, I travel to Paris with Luan and Noah running on about two hours of sleep, to watch you play, and you're just going to be  _catching up_ with Michael  _fucking_ Ballack-"

"Sylwia, you can still watch the game, and I'm taking the boys after the break anyway-"

"But it  _slipped your mind,_ a lot of things seem to slip your mind when Ballack is involved," Sylwia finished coldly. 

Miro flinched. 

"This is not the right time or place to air past grievances, and you know that, Sylwia," he said quietly.

_She was staring at him in raw disbelief, and he didn't have the nerve to keep eye contact with her. All he could do was have faith that what he was saying was right for the both of them._

_"Who?" she asked. "Who? Is it_ him? _"_

_"I can't say anything about that, Sylwia, I'm sorry-"_

_"No, of course you can't. Of course."_

Sylwia was glaring at him in a similar way right now. She seemed to be weighing something in her mind- was it worth arguing here, in this hotel corridor, when it was so late and she was so tired? The entire German National Team and her sons were just in the room next to her.

Miro didn't want to row with her right now either. He understood why she was angry- if he had perhaps said he was meeting with anybody  _but_ Michael, she probably wouldn't have been feeling the same way...

"You know what?" Sylwia said angrily, after several moments of this tense silence. "You're right. This  _isn't_ the right time or place."

She turned on her heel and walked down the corridor, with Miro hurrying in her wake.

"Sylwia," he pleaded, but she didn't acknowledge him. She walked into the common room, where Luan and Noah were now running circles around Jerome and Jessica, who were doing the arm-wrestling, and Leon was sitting on Sami's lap

"Boys," she said in a bright voice. "Boys!"

Marco and Thomas caught hold of Luan and Noah, who were chanting for either side, and turned them towards their mother.

"Time to go now, I think," Sylwia said, extending her hands towards both of them. "It's late, and all the players need to get a lot of sleep, just like you two. Let's get back to the hotel. You can see everyone tomorrow."

"Awwww, but Mutti!"

"But we want to keep  _playing!_ "

Mario could see that Sylwia's smile was strained, and that Miro was wearing an unhappy frown. His stomach was rolling.

"We can't keep playing, my darlings, you'll tire the players out so they won't be able to play well tomorrow!" Sylwia told them. "And you don't want that, do you? You want them all to score lots of goals!"

"You should go back to the hotel and sleep, you'll be watching the game tomorrow," Miro said quietly.  "You don't want to have to take a nap whilst we're all playing. You might miss a goal." 

The boys looked rather unconvinced. Alternative measures were going to be required, but before Fips could step in and bore the two boys into running into their mother's arms, Marco suddenly let out a large, theatric yawn, rubbing his eyes.

"You know, I  _am_ really tired," he said. "I think  _I'm_ going to sleep now. Otherwise I might- just- fall-"

He let his voice trail off, suddenly dropping his head and pretending to have just nodded off. He even started snoring, very realistically so (he just had to think of what Mats sounded like when he was sleeping and worked from there). Thomas followed his example and soon every player, even Fips, was pretending to have fallen asleep. Leon looked bemusedly at his mother, wondering how she had dozed off so quickly, especially since just a few moments ago she had been screaming at Jerome at the top of her voice.

Mario was still staring at Miro and Sylwia, his throat tight. Both of them were smiling slightly, but there was definitely tension between the ex-husband and wife.

The boys fell about laughing. 

"Wake up, Uncle Marco, you can't sleep here, you have to sleep in bed!" Luan insisted, pushing at him gently.

Marco opened one eye after a bit more pushing, looking confused.

"I fell asleep?" he said, sounding utterly bewildered. "Wow, I really  _am_ tired. I should go to bed now."

Everyone else seemed to wake up simultaneously, and they all chorused, "Yeah, we should go to bed."

The boys looked put-out that  _everyone_ was sleepy now.

"Okay, then, we'll go too," Noah said, pouting. He gave Thomas a quick hug, and Thomas gave him a peck on the forehead, before running around every other player and hugging them too. 

"Will you tell Uncle Manu I said hi, and that I save everything?" Luan asked Thomas earnestly, once he had hugged Marco goodbye.

"Natürlich. He'll be proud of his little spiritual successor, the next GOAT in line," Thomas said solemnly, kissing Luan's forehead too. 

The boys were scooped up by Basti and Lukas and given a quick lap of the room before being set down again in front of Fips. Fips patted their heads clumsily as they both hugged him. They took a step backwards, looking up at him and then back to big Leon as if for confirmation. Big Leon nodded at them, clearly urging them with his eyebrows.

"Fips..." Luan and Noah said in unison. Fips looked at them warily.

"Yes?" he asked, one of his frighteningly thick eyebrows arched. Luan and Noah looked at each other, and then-

"Are you gay?" they both asked, their expressions innocent and their eyes as round as coins.

Basti and Lukas were gone, clutching each other and howling, Leon was holding up his hands as if to say,  _really, it was nothing_ and Miro had one hand over his face. Fips raised his eyes to the heavens, a deathly calm smile playing across his lips, and then he knelt down, beckoning the two of them forwards. They shuffled towards him. 

Fips leaned forwards and started whispering something into Luan's ear. Luan nodded, a look of concentration on his face. Noah responded in an eerily similar way when Fips whispered to him too.

"What'd he say?" Leon asked, frowning. The two boys looked at him, and then at Fips, who raised his eyebrow again, and then burst into giggles, running away. "Hey- hey, wait! WHAT'D HE SAY?  _WHAT'D HE SAY?_ "

Luan and Noah totally disregarded him, sprinting towards Mario Gomez. 

"Bye, Uncle Mario!" they both yelled, hugging him quickly.

Mario only had time to pat them both on the heads before they were off again, with Leon yelling after them in confusion. He could hardly move, or say anything. He was still staring at Miro's upset expression, and Sylwia's carefully restrained anger as she took hold of her sons' shoulders. His inexplicable silence went unnoticed by everyone but Jonas, of course. Mario could feel the left-back's eyes on him and knew that he was thinking back to that goddamn text conversation. He knew that he should have been relaxing the tension in his shoulders and forcing himself to look natural. But he simply could not. 

"You know what," Jessica said, standing up with a yawn, slapping Jerome's taunting middle finger away from her (Toni cuffed him around the head for displaying the obscene gesture around the kids). "We should be making tracks too, it  _is_ late. Leon needs his bedtime as well. Sorry, Boateng, this match is postponed. You haven't won it."

"Yeah, you _should_ get some rest, Jess," Jerome said. "You look like shit." 

"So I look like your defensive positioning?"

As Jerome started to comprehensively explain how Germany wouldn't have won the World Cup without him, Toni reached over for his his son. The little boy was half-dozing in Sami's arms, and he blinked confusedly as Sami lifted him up gently and placed him into Toni's arms. But then he just rested his head against Toni's chest and seemed to settle down again.

This time the goodbyes were less... dynamic, with everyone being very quiet so they didn't startle him too much. Leon was content with high-fiving or receiving brief hugs from everyone, but when he reached Jonas he leaned forwards to be momentarily held before returning to his father's arms.

"You'll score, right?" Leon asked sleepily.

Jonas blushed. "I'll try, Leon. But you should really look towards your brilliant Papa if you want a good performance from someone..."

Toni went a furious shade of red and mumbled something incoherently- and that was just  _confirmation_ for Jerome, Toni  _never_ blushed at praise, he simply agreed with it. But seeing as this praise was coming from Jonas... Jerome and Jessica exchanged yet another knowing look, but then Jessica made a quip under her breath about Toni and  _good performances_ which made Jerome decide that he was never going to look her in the eye again.

"Come on, Leon, let's go," he said, taking Leon from Toni's arms and marching out of the room. Jessica winked at Jonas and then followed him, with Toni trailing behind them awkwardly.

Sylwia gave a vague wave to everyone and the boys yelled their final goodbyes. Big Leon was still desperate to find out what Fips had told Luan and Noah but the man wasn't budging one bit, and neither were the boys. Miro held Luan in his arms and Sylwia held Noah's hand as they exited with Jessica, little Leon, Toni and Jerome.

For some reason, Sylwia stopped in the doorway as she was leaving. It was only for a brief moment, but her gaze flickered over her shoulder and suddenly she was looking at Mario. Mario stared at her with wide eyes, but then her gaze shifted away and she was pulled by Noah out of the door, and she didn't look back again.

"Mario, are you alright?" Jonas asked, as everyone burst into conversation again, Fips now being subjected to the  _are you gay_ chants tenfold, his torture being led by Basti and Lukas, with Leon still demanding to know what he had said to Luan and Noah. 

Mario looked at Jonas and smiled steadily. "Yeah. I'm fine. I'm tired, though. I'm probably going to go to bed, now."

He was almost daring Jonas to question him with how intensely he returned the left-back's gaze. Indeed, there _was_ veiled frustration behind Jonas' polite smile. But of course he didn't say anything challenging. He just wished Mario goodnight as the striker left the room, not even bothering to wait for Miro's return. Nobody heard how his footsteps quickened as he raced to be alone. 

 _How long are you going to let him play this game?_ Jonas was yelling at himself, in the meantime, thoughts of pursuing Mario dying in his mind almost as soon as they were conceived.  _Even he knows how ridiculous this is getting, how much he's hiding. When are you going to hold him accountable for it? Oh, that's right, never. Fucking never, you useless piece of shit!_

 _You're such a hypocrite,_ his inner voice said in disgust.  _You're just as bad as he is. Worse, even. Don't talk about how ridiculous_ Mario  _is for hiding when your entire personality literally isn't real._

"You know what, I'm feeling tired too," Jonas said suddenly to Benni, who was about to leave himself. "I think I'm going to go to bed as well."

_And I think I'm going to chain-smoke twenty cigarettes in a row so I can burn out my fucking lungs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know how to speak polish lol it was most certainly not perfect polish lmao
> 
> apparently everyone is a father now marco's kid is so cute
> 
> uhhh sylwia and miro's fight like... this is fanfic and as we all know zinedine zidane could become the head coach of duisburg in this fic and nobody would blink an eye there is no semblance of reality as we all know just a lil disclaimer that weall been knew already  
> also it sounds like miro cheated on sylwia with michael with the way they were talking but NO that DID NOT HAPPEN miro is not a cheater in the slightest way and never would be


	69. Chapter 69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 24!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus leute!
> 
> it's been a very long time, but this chapter is actually going to be. full. texting. chapter. regular reality disclaimer just dont think about what times all these conversations may be happening and you'll have a swimming time
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER IS IT. THE BEGINNING... OF THE FRANCE MATCH.

  _thomas is bayern's past present and future_

 **David:** guys someone roasted tf out of robert today

 **David:** ain't no plants were growing in the shade that was given it was lethal

 **Jerome:** so somebody wants to die?

 **Jerome:** im about to square tf up

 **Robert:** Lmaooo

 **Robert:**  Who was it

 **David:** i'm not going to say who it is because i don't want jeri to obliterate a member of my national team

 **David:** but like... i thought i'd let you know what a team player i am i defended robert's honour and shit

 **David:** all i needed to do is bring up the fact that west ham couldn't beat cardiff city and the silence could be heard from wien

 **Niklas:** Mate now we know it's Arnautovic

 **David:** hol up-

**David:**

**Leon:** do you just have pictures of urself saved on ur phone

 **Serge:** bruh thas some james shit

**James:**

**Jerome:** arnautovic?!!

 **Jerome:** roasted ROB?!?!?!

 **Jerome:** THIS ludicrous motherfucker???????????

**Jerome:**

**Jerome:** shading ROB?!?!?!

 **Jerome:** he's just out there, S H A D I N G R O B?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?

 **Jerome:** that fucking piece of wet astro turf SHOULD have joined oscar and hulk at shanghai to be a true part of that special gang of players whose careers could have been good but now couldnt possibly mean less to anyone

 **Jerome:** at least he would have gotten a better paycheck than at west fucking ham

 **Jerome:** and he's austrian! AUSTRIAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **David:** yeah i thought this was coming

 **Mats:** every time i'm thoroughly taken aback by how extra jerome is

 **Mats:** it's an art

 **Robert:** Jeri it's okay even I am shading myself at this point

 **Robert:** I'm about to get glassed by Christian Rolando tomorrow too

 **Robert:** So any shading is only going to become more justified

 **Xabi:** David now look what you've gone and done

 **David:** this was not the moral of my story

 **Javi:** Robert you'll be fine!!!

 **Javi:** Even if you're not:

 **Javi:** In any case you are not the only player who has had a less than good international break!

 **Javi:** Spain is struggling too!!! It happens!!

 **James:** yeah fucking right spain is struggling. thinking of that croatia scoreline makes me feel sick. SICK 

 **Thiago:** boy...

**David:**

**Serge:** literally 

 **James:** anyway guys shut the fuck up and listen to me now

 **James:** im aboutta hit yall with some real talk

 **Fips:** God.

 **Arjen:** Yes, Philipp?

 **Fips:** If you're God then Nietzsche really was right.

 **Fips:** Especially after that last game.

_Arjen Robben left thomas is bayern's past present and future._

_Thomas Müller added Arjen Robben to thomas is bayern's past present and future._

**Mats:** is thomas even awake seriously how the hell is he doing this does he have a bot

 **James:** in the interest of justice i let fips give that roast to you arjen especially after what you did to me in that g*rmany game

 **Fips:** You don't 'let' me do anything. I am the only one with any real power here.

 **Fips:** I operate above all of you, all by my lonesome.

 **Basti:** do you operate alone tho

 **Leon:** fr

 **Niklas:** FIPS

 **Fips:** NO GOD DAMN IT NO

 **Serge:** ARE 

 **Xabi:** YOU

 **Arjen:** GAY

 **James:** that's what you get for questioning my authority

 **James:** now i thought i told all of you to shut the fuck up and let me talk

 **James:** where is kingsley coman

 **James:** is he awake

 **Kingsley:** yes,

 **James:** corentin tolisso

 **Coco:** Yo x

 **James:** yoHoHO

 **James:** oh and

 **James:** franck ribery

 **Franck:** what do you want

 **Leon:** oh sergi so you were right

 **Serge:** i alaways am leo

_Private chat between Robert Lewandowski and Serge Gnabry_

**Robert:** Gay

 **Serge:** i will block your nubmer

_thomas is bayern's past present and future_

**James:**  CORENTIN TOLISSO, KINGSLEY COMAN AND FRANCK RIBERY

 **Coco:**  I'm frightened now

 **Kingsley:** my guy james what is going on

 **James:** we 

 **James:**  out

 **James:** here

 **Franck:** WHAT MAN WHAT

 **James:** loving and appreciating you and coco is going to be the best player of this International Break!!!!

 **James:** kingsley the second best!!!

 **Coco:**  

**Mats:** lol james you do more than the most

 **Javi:** Si!!!!! Coco will be so good and healthy throughout the whole thing!!!

 **Javi:** Our creative warrior like midfield god!!!

 **Basti:**???

 **Javi:** And kingsley will be incredibly healthy and strong and fast too!!!

 **Javi:**  He will tear defences up with his pace!!!

 **Javi:** Franck will be great too!!!! As always!!!

 **James:** damn right coco will be all and everywhere ACL whom

 **Coco:** Hey quick question what the fuck

 **Coco:** Thank you James omg xx 

 **James:** you're welcome you're like the only person who deserves any semblance of praise from me

 **Coco:** Hey wait I thought Kingsley was the second best player haha

 **James:** oh yeah him too i guess. but u first

 **Coco:** Aw lmao shits gotten me soft x

**Serge:**

**Kingsley:** aw wait what shut the fuck up you guys

 **Kingsley:**  thanks james and javi my brothers i needed that x

 **Kingsley:** that shit hit Different

 **Arjen:** Why? I mean Javi clearly would give up his life for you yes, as he would for anyone

 **Arjen:** But James only cares about you because he wants you to beat Germany

 **Arjen:** He told me he's taken me out of his plans for all the future vines he wants to make because we lost to them

 **Arjen:** I mean I'm not complaining but

 **James:**  but you are because being part of my vines is a prestigious honour

 **Xabi:** He told me he was writing me out of his will because of the Croatia game.

 **Thiago:** he told me that i wasn't going to feature in the autobiographical film about his life

 **James:** actions have consequences you guys i did warn you you needed to win 

 **Coco:** Hahah we'd better be careful then I want a starring role in that film! x

 **James:** shit yeah u aint gonna be no extra ;)

_Private chat between Serge Gnabry and Leon Goretzka_

**Serge:** leo am i lsoing my mind

 **Leon:** if you are we're both losing our minds together

 **Serge:** he's nto fucking flriting is he

 **Leon:** i... think he is...

 **Serge:** wtf the rfuck

 **Serge:** WTF THE FRUSK SINCE WEHN 

 **Leon:** I AM OOTL

_thomas is bayern's past present and future_

**Kingsley:** well then !

 **Kingsley:** i thought my dear friend james was saying it bc he was here for me in my emotional and anxiety-inducing time bc im finally healthy to play for my coutnry but theres also loads of new risks but

 **Kingsley:** looks like life continues to disappoint

_Kingsley Coman left thomas is bayern's past present and future._

_Thomas Müller added Kingsley Coman to thomas is bayern's past present and future._

**Javi:** No King we are all here for you!!!! You're going to be fine!!!!

 **Javi:** You're going to be fantastique!!!!

 **Joshua:** you won't be against manu king he's sick or something

 **Joshua:** you'll be against ter stegen so we'll let you get one goal so we can clown him and that's it

 **Jerome:** i beg to fucking differ

 **Mats:** i beg to fucking differ

 **Robert:** I beg to fucking differ

 **Joshua:** ok fine

 **Joshua:** kingsley youre not going to score against the might of our defence and are going to be shit

 **Joshua:** happy?

 **Kingsley:** no

 **Fips:** Honestly it's not Kingsley you should worry about.

 **Fips:** Have you all forgotten about France's talisman?

 **Basti:** we could never 

 **Basti:** the original fußballgott

 **Thomas:** with a face as fresh as a raindrop,

 **Jerome:** shoulders i would like him to kill me with

 **Leon:** and the most beautiful intense eyes

 **Franck:** hugo?

 **Arjen:** What

 **Jerome:** franck are you literally stupid

 **Jerome:** why would it be lloris

 **Franck:** he has pretty intense eyes

**Franck:**

**Arjen:** Just shut up Jesus Christ you shouldn't be allowed the ability to communicate

 **Leon:** we meant GIROUD

 **Basti:** the original prolific target man

 **Robert:** Oh fuck off he LITERALLY ISN'T EVEN GOOD

 **Robert:** HE'S AVERAGE

 **Thomas:** your goal conversion rate is average

 **Thomas:** giroud won't win the game tomorrow but do you know what he will win?

 **James:** my eternal hatred he HAS to win

 **Thomas:** he'll win the race to get:

 **Niklas:** M

 **Niklas:** E

 **Niklas:** S

 **Niklas:**  A 

 **Niklas:** M

 **Niklas:** Y

 **Thomas:** for fuck's sake niklas i left that to you

 **Niklas:** I am sorry 

 **Mats:** now they aren't going to get together this international break

 **James:** listen literally NOBODY cares about what giroud will do to the less-good version of me  and khedira 

 **James:** what we care about is the fact that germany, with it's bayern core of players who are coached by niko kovac, are going to get royally shown up

 **James:** by coco, kingsley and franck. AND giroud if he's feeling up for it

 **James:** g*rmany got fucking lucky last time

 **James:** neuer somehow channelled the energy of my worst fears and nightmares and voodoo stopped all their shots

 **James:** but france'll edge that shit this time with the power of king, coco and franck

 **Niklas:** Look even putting aside all the countless other factors you've ignored to come up with that incredibly bad take

 **Niklas:** You've forgotten the most important, vital thing

 **James:** what

 **Niklas:** You should know.

 **James:** why should i know

 **James:** what am i forgetting

 **James:** i don't forget anything i'm james rodriguez

 **James:** my brain is perfect and nothing gets past me

 **Serge:** before you ask yes i have been ddealing with this shit for the whoel IB

 **Niklas:** You're forgetting a certain left-back.

 **Joshua:** goddamn right you are

 **Arjen:** Oh fuck off.

**Thomas:**

**James:** oh... Hector.

 **Arjen:**  THAT fucking bastard

 **Joshua:** what the fuck

 **Joshua:** thats not how youre meant to react to seeing an adorable picture of jonas

 **Arjen:**  It damn well is

 **Arjen:** I hate him

 **James:** he is so fucking annoying

 **James:** on the pitch hes so fucking impossible to get past and he's always in your way and then off it hes always damn apologising for existing he's so stupidly nice

 **James:** i juts want to hate him in peace and then he makes me feel bad for it and that never happens with me

 **James:** anyway his hattrick was a fluke and ruined my life

 **Niklas:** Don't you fucking dare say anything JOnas does is a fluke.

 **Niklas:** It's his pure talent.

 **Arjen:** Like hell it is

 **Arjen:** Why is he in the 2.Bundesliga

 **Niklas:** YOU

 **Niklas:** YOU WAIT

 **Arjen:** For what? Go and score an own goal you didn't even play I can say whatever I like about him

 **Niklas:** ROBBEN

 **Franck:** you do know this man is 1.95m tall arj

 **Arjen:** Every time I underestimate how big that number is  Jesus Christ

 **Arjen:** How fucking terrifying is Neuer if even Süle is scared of him

 **Leon:** you sdo not wanna know

 **James:** i'm actually afraid now tho

 **James:** COCO

 **Coco:** Yeahhh

 **James:** will you Effectively Shut Down Hector he seems to be a threat to my happiness

 **Coco:** Ha well you know I'ma be fighting on that pitch even if he takes my legs out I'll shut him down like a Windows program

 **Coco:** I'll keep you happy 

 **Joshua:** JONAS SCORED A HATTRICK VS THE NETHERLANDS

 **Joshua:** WHY DO YOU THINK THAT WILL EVER HAPPEN

 **Coco:** Because we're better than the Netherlands

 **James:** D A M N ST R A I G  H T i never liked the netherlands anyway

**Arjen: _[screenshot:_**

**_James:_ ** _don't worry mi amigo_

 **_James:_ ** _i am right now your biggest supporter_

 **_James:_ ** _matthijis de ligt, name a better defende_ _r **]**_

 **David:** i believe that is what we call 'being a clownass bitch'

 **David:** or words to that effect

 **Fips:** Next he'll be saying Will Grigg is a more potent finisher than Lewandowski.

 **Robert:** He probably is lmao

 **Jerome:** rob shut the F U C K up 

 **Robert:** Come over here and stop me

 **Robert:** Come over here I love you :'(

 **Jerome:** i wish i could baby i love you too :'(

 **Mats:** incredible

 **Fips:** Good Lord.

 **Arjen:** Don't you find it adorable, Fips?

 **Arjen:** Don't you empathise with their long-distance plight?

 **Fips:** I do not.

 **Arjen:** You've never had the feeling of wishing every droplet of rain was a distant lover's touch?

 **Fips:** What.

 **Franck:** are you on crack

 **Arjen:** God I wish

 **David:** why yall so damn weird 

 **David:** it's jupp isn't it

 **James:** JUPP 

 **David:** when jupp was here arjen communicated like a normal human being and james barely spoke

 **Serge:** btetter times

 **Coco:** Aw I don't think so it's way better now

 **James:** yes indeed

 **Serge:** ho

 **Serge:** oh* i wasn't calling you a slut coco

 **Coco:** Wouldn't have been the first time

_Private chat between Leon Goretzka and Serge Gnabry_

**Leon:** so... james and coco are just... openly flirting...

 **Serge:** i dio not knwo what to do with this infromatio... 

 **Serge:** i did not know of this...

 **Serge:** whahat the FUCK...

 **Leon:** i mean fair play to them for being so open about it if they DO like each other

 **Leon:** it's better to be straight out with it right?

 **Serge:** you hthink so...

 **Leon:** well, yeah i guess, better than just being silent about it i mean they are grown men lol

 **Serge:** ho...

_Private chat between James Rodriguez and Corentin Tolisso_

**James:** coco i am a fucking genius

 **James:** the panicked notifications have arrived

 **James:** "JAMES LEO SAID IT'S BETTER TO BE STRAIGHT OUT WITH IT IF YOU HAVE A CRUSH IS HE GETTING IMPATIENT WITH ME"

 **Coco:** James mate you are evil

 **Coco:** I thought you said he was going to wait til the Schalke game to ask Leon out?

 **Coco:** How come you wanted me to flirt with you now?

 **James:** you know serge do you think he'll keep that promise or pussy the fuck out

 **Coco:** Probably the second option hahaha

 **James:** this will give him an extra boost to make sure he does it

 **James:** thank you for your services 

 **Coco:** No worries

 **Coco:** It wasn't a hard job ;)

 **Coco:** I will still be a midfield god for you tomorrow x

 **James:** you always are x

***

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Toni:**

Ter Stegen  
Hector-Boateng-Hummels-Lahm  
Goretzka-Schweinsteiger  
Müller-Kroos-Özil  
Klose

 **Toni:** Opinions on the lineup

 **Julian D:** Beautiful Jonas is there

 **Basti:** sexy

 **Leon:** yes is very sexy

 **Sami:** Terrible I don't see myself

 **Bernd:** so fucking unfair i pulled that stop on gomez the other day and not even the slightest chance of starting

 **Mario Gom:** You stopped me Bernd mate I'm not exactly on par with Netzter

 **Miro:** Suth up Mario you are better

 **Miro:** Nayway it is good

 **Miro:** Likea lw

 **Miro: Like** always

 **Thomas:** i should be central

 **Toni:** But I'm better centrally

 **Thomas:** there is a reason bayern didn't want to sign a new contract with you

 **Toni:** I'm not losing sleep over it I won 3 Champions Leagues in a row

 **Thomas:** hey toni!

 **Thomas:** i already have the kroos family christmas present planned

 **Toni:** WAIT WHAT 

 **Fips:** Both of you shut up, now.

 **Fips:** It's a good lineup.

 **Per:** it would be better with me in it

 **Fips:** Yes, you're part of the _impenetrable_ Arsenal backline, why oh why must you be injured.

 **Per:** ok then shall i just die

 **Fips:** Fine by me.

 **Basti:** wait... per?

 **Per:** yes

 **Lukas:** wtf

 **Lukas:** you have said exactly one thing in this chat for all the time it has existed

 **Lukas:** _oh shut up lukas that's the pot calling the kettle a goddamn pot_

 **Lukas:** and then you never spoke again

 **Lukas:** and... THIS is your grand return?

 **Per:** yes what of it

 **Basti:** you're wack and also so german

 **Basti:** are you in paris

 **Per:** yeah

 **Per:** i would've come to visit you guys but i didn't come here to watch you guys

 **Fips:** Who did you come to watch then?

 **Per:** olivier

 **Lukas:** shit u right

 **Sami:** Lmao

 **Sami:** Pre-matchday against France I'm surprised I didn't hear that fucker's name earlier

 **Kai:** DID SOMEONE SAY

 **Sami:** Oh Jesus Christ

_Sami Khedira left bayern won the bundesliga._

_Thomas Müller added Sami Khedira to bayern won the bundesliga_

**Kai:** OLIVIER GIROUD?????????

 **Kai:** ALSO HELLO PER MERTESTACKER THE BIGGEST OF BOYS I HAVENT SAID HI TO YOU YET!!

 **Kai:** I SHOULDNT HAVE CALLED YOU THE BIGGEST OF BOYS THAT WAS WEIRD BUT YOU ARE SO T A L L

 **Leon:** please excuse kai's inability to communicate like an ordinary human being

 **Per:** you say that like i haven't been excusing that shit from all of YOU for years

 **Per:** havertz the new ballack hey

 **Kai:** i would prefer being known as the new mesut!!!

 **Mesut:** uh how about you be your own thing kid

 **Mesut:** i'd like to be known as the one and only mesut

 **Kai:** oh sure!!! i am not saying in any way that I, being the Filth i am, can in any way be compared to you, i am just saying that if anyone is going to call me the 'new' anything using one of the names of famous german attacking midfielders, i would prefer to be the new mesut because i don't know if you've noticed, but i idolise you!!

 **Sami:** God I preferred it when he was talking about Giroud

 **Kai:** i can do that if you want!!!

 **Sami:** No.

 **Per:** so i'm guessing the international break has been the same as always without me

 **Fips:** There will never be a divergence from how international breaks usually are, with you or without you.

 **Per:** except with me they're better

 **Per:** let's do the ol' checklist

 **Per:** lukas/basti being obnoxious?

 **Lukas:** we're not obnoxious we're in love you sad lonely fuck

 **Per:** check

 **Per:** marco and mats fighting?

 **Fips:** Of all the questions to ask.

 **Leon:** check benni has joined in that three-way too

 **Mats:** do not call it a three-way 

 **Per:** bernd and marc-andre fighting?

 **Bernd:** per have i not come through with clutch saves throughout all the games b4 the break AND during training but no ter stegen still fucking starts

 **Per:** another check

 **Per:** just like the simulations i suppose

 **Jerome:** oh leroy is pregnant apparently with a child he is going to name rio stella jerome sané

 **Marc-Andre:** Yeah, if he values my friendship.

 **Jerome:** marc-andre what does that even mean

 **Per:** right well that's an absolutely terrible name a no from me

 **Jerome:**  a no from me is arsenal's defensive record

 **Niklas:** He's bigger than me Jerome you really gonna play that one?

 **Jerome:** you think i can't take per?

 **Jerome:** big slowass ludicrous motherfucker

 **Jerome:** anyway wtf was that reaction per

 **Jerome:** you just hear leroy is pregnant and you don't have a reaction

 **Per:** i knew about that already

 **Per:** and i'm not a virgin so i don't act like leroy having a relationship is the most incomprehensible thing in the world

 **Per:** and nothing from this team can surprise me anyway

 **Kai:** nothing can surprise you when you have olivier giroud as a teammate because every day you're surprised by his beauty so you become immune to the feeling of surprise!

_Private chat between Julian Brandt and Kai Havertz_

**Julian B:** kai honey are your arms ok

 **Kai:** yes! why would they not be!

 **Julian B:** i just don't think anyone can reach so far without feeling any strain, that's all

 **Kai:** i thought you wanted me to reach!!! you told me to do it for M E S A M I!

 **Julian B:** oh no honey i'm not complaining in fact i admire your dedication to the cause

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Per:** he is a handsome bloke yes

 **Kai:** a knockout!!!

 **Mesut:** don't worry kid you'll get to see him tomorrow

 **Mesut:** you can release... some of that pent up gay energy

 **Fips:** Dubious advice. That is your very very  _very_  good friend you're talking about.

 **Julian D:** Yeah do you really wanna set him loose on Giroud that poor beautiful gorgeous stunning sensuous man will be overwhelmed

 **Joshua:** 4 adjectives connoting attractiveness

_Private chat between Julian Draxler and Joshua Kimmich_

**Julian D:** J O S H

 **Julian D:** IT'S FOR THE CAUSE

 **Julian D:** FOR MESAMI

 **Joshua:** PUT THE SAME ENERGY INTO COMPLIMENTING ME YOU FUCK

 **Julian D:** PUT THE SAME ENERGY YOU PUT INTO COMPLIMENTING  _JONAS_ INTO COMPLIMENTING  _ME_ THEN

 **Joshua:** OH YOU WENT THERE YOU REALLY THOUGHT YOU COULD COMPARE YOURSELF TO JONAS

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Mario Got:** nah i think giroud will be ok

 **Mario Got:** kai gon look at giroud in the eyes then pass out on the spot

 **Mario Got:** no harm done

 **Kai:** all true and valid!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

_Private chat between Julian Brandt and Kai Havertz_

**Julian B:** i'm quaking sami's silence speaks louder than his words

 **Kai:** im going to be sitting on the bench with that man tomorrow......

 **Kai:** jule if i die tell bosz i love him

 **Julian B:** you won't die

 **Julian B:** im here to protect you with my heart and soul 

 **Kai:** he's going to kill me in my sleep

 **Julian B:** dont worry im here i'll fucking kick his head in 

 **Julian B:** but most likely he is just crying into his pillow so he won't come anyway

_bayern won the bundesliga_

**Per:** lovely! 

 **Per:** you're all probably more focused on olivier than the actual goal of winning

 **Per:** but at least i can enjoy the shitshow as a spectator instead of being right in the middle of it like i usually am

 **Fips:** Nothing will ever reach the level of early days Basti and Lukas.

 **Per:** u absolutely tellin me

 **Per:** or

 **Per:** (deleted message)

 **Mesut:** or what

 **Per:** or the multitude of other headcases on this squad

 **Lukas:** fips you're just jealous you don't have what we have and that's that

 **Basti:** how do we know he DOESN'T HAVE what we have

 **Leon:** oh

 **Fips:** Don't.

 **Serge:** _ho_

 **Fips:**   **Don't.**

 **Basti:**  Philipp.

 **Fips:** _**Don't.** _

**Lukas:** are

 **Thomas:** you

 **Leon:** gay

 **Fips:** bye 

 **Per:** well fips? are you?

 **Lukas:** he gon?

 **Leon:** he gon, he is texting somebody in a fury and is ignoring my calls of his name

 **Julian D:** He's texting Hoeneß saying their secret relationship needs to come to an end, it's too close to being revealed

 **Niklas:** Asgrjjgreshg

 **Basti:** he gon... and so goes our hopes of finding out his sexual orientation.

 **Leon:** have faith. we have two friends that can step in to save the day

 **Leon:** a hula hoop and a bottle of tequila can do the job.

***

_Private chat between Leroy Sané and Marc-Andre ter Stegen_

**Marc-Andre:**  LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

 **Leroy:** yes buddy boy

 **Leroy:** is that a "LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY" that indicates panic or a "LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY" that is a joyful greeting

 **Marc-Andre:** Both

 **Marc-Andre:** First of all how is Candice and Rio Stella Marc-Andre Sané

 **Leroy:** candice is good we're both so on edge though the slightest twinge and im about to bus out the car keys and get ready to drive to that hospital

 **Marc-Andre:** And how is Rio Stella Marc-Andre Sané

 **Leroy:** i-

 **Marc-Andre:** Leroy.

 **Leroy:** marc-andre...

 **Marc-Andre:** You're going to make me cry.

 **Marc-Andre:** Do you want to make me cry?

 **Leroy:** you don't need to cry!  ~~yet~~

 **Leroy:** we will make an informed decision and that is that

 **Marc-Andre:** I CAN'T BELIEVE IT HAS TO BE A DECISION HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY VIEW JEROME AS ANYWHERE NEAR ME IM LITERALLY YOUR ONLY FRIEND 

 **Leroy:** uh... you sure about that buddy?

 **Marc-Andre:** OK IM THE ONLY FRIEND THAT MATTERS

 **Leroy:** look it is not solely m y decision to make 

 **Leroy:** have you ever considered maybe candice and i might have a MUTUAL friend who could be godfather...

 **Marc-Andre:** WHAT

 **Leroy:** OK MY GOOD BITCH LET'S QUICKLY STEER THE TOPIC OUT OF THESE DANGEROUS WATERS WHY ARE YOU PANICKING

**Marc-Andre:**

**Marc-Andre:** We will return to this topic >:(

 **Leroy:** ~~we will not~~

 **Leroy:** so what is it

 **Marc-Andre:** >:(((((((

 **Marc-Andre:** I think Marc-Andre is angry at me

 **Leroy:** wha

 **Marc-Andre:** Lmao I meant Bernd

 **Leroy:** and you think you deserve to be godfather

 **Marc-Andre:** HEY IT WAS AN HONEST MISTAKE

 **Leroy:** why do you think he's angry at you

 **Marc-Andre:** Well you know how I'm starting tomorrow

 **Leroy:** yes

 **Marc-Andre:** Well, I think he's angry about it

 **Marc-Andre:** Idk he's been cold 

 **Marc-Andre:** For some reason that alarms me more than when he's all angry and shouty

 **Marc-Andre:** At least I'm used to him shouting because I can just shout back

 **Marc-Andre:** When he's cold I don't really know how to react I mean he hasn't directly said anything TO me other than whats on the gc

 **Marc-Andre:** But even then idk if that was just for show or if he really means it he probably does

 **Marc-Andre:** And I think it would probably wound his pride if I ask him if hes angry I'm starting over him

 **Leroy:** neither of you have addressed that bigass elephant in the room have you

 **Leroy:** that whole 'second keeper' shtick

 **Leroy:** ofc he's going to be mad he put on a really great show in training too

 **Leroy:** i'd say it's to be expected honestly marc-andre, him feeling like that, but you know what you should do?

 **Leroy:** it's a radical suggestion

 **Marc-Andre:** Hit me with it

 **Leroy:** i warn you it will most likely shock you

 **Marc-Andre:** I'm so ready

 **Leroy:** are you sure

 **Marc-Andre:** YES I'M READY AS I'LL EVER BE GO

 **Leroy:** talk to him

**Marc-Andre:**

**Marc-Andre:** I'm sorry?

 **Leroy:** i'll give you time to let your heart stop racing

 **Leroy:** take deep breaths

 **Marc-Andre:** Got to get my got damn inhaler out

 **Marc-Andre:** Is this what fatherhood is

 **Marc-Andre:** Has the upcoming birth of Rio Stella Marc-Andre Sane caused you to take leave of your senses

 **Leroy:** maybe so

 **Leroy:** what would you leike me to reccomend marc boy

 **Leroy:** you in a relationship now

 **Leroy:** that shit isn't gonna last if u keep this bullshit non-communication thing up

 **Leroy:** he is going to be mad that's a given

 **Leroy:** nobody is refuting that i swear i get mad if im on the bench for a game let alone for literally my whole international career

 **Leroy:** i can't imagine what that's like for him

 **Leroy:** u can't just fuck each other whenever a serious problem comes along

**Leroy:**

**Leroy:** can't just be moving like this on each other

 **Marc-Andre:** Bold of you to assume that we can't do that till we die

 **Marc-Andre:** Our relationship came about because we fucked each other instead of confronting a serious problem

 **Leroy:** yall are the absolute Limit

 **Leroy:** i swear how many events in this godforsaken universe could be stopped if you just... had a damn conversation

 **Marc-Andre:** Ok Leroy because you're so communicative

 **Marc-Andre:** Half the squad didn't even know you were having a baby until I told them

**Leroy:**

****

**Leroy:** at least i talk to candice

 **Marc-Andre:** Yeah but Candice isn't your direct football rival who you've been fighting with all your life

 **Leroy:** she scary tho

 **Leroy:** she scary when she wants to be

 **Leroy:** bernd is about as scary as mats faced with a heading opportunity at a corner

 **Marc-Andre:** He can be scary

 **Marc-Andre:** I feel like I have to defend his honour that's new

 **Leroy:** can he

 **Leroy:** can he REALLY

 **Marc-Andre:** He can

 **Marc-Andre:** Like I'd like to see you start a conversation with him when his eyes are like chips of damn ice

 **Marc-Andre:** Man I don't know what to say to him that wouldn't be patronising or humiliating

 **Marc-Andre:** I'm not gonna tell him I think he deserves the spot over me because like hell do I think that

 **Marc-Andre:** I care about my damn career

 **Marc-Andre:** But I care about him too

 **Marc-Andre:**  AndI don't wanna say some condescending shit like oH aT lEaSt yOuRe GoOd At ArSenAl

 **Marc-Andre:** He'd just get angry 

 **Marc-Andre:** Then I'd get angry too because like it or not I believe I deserve the spot over him I wouldn't believe myself if I indulged him

 **Leroy:** nobody expects to you to say you don't

 **Leroy:** but you both have to find some sort of happy medium or it'll take one little flame for you both to blow up

 **Marc-Andre:** What happy medium? In what situation could we both be happy with this situation

 **Marc-Andre:** We're not fuckin outfield players who can rotate

 **Marc-Andre:** Plus Manu is still in the equation so the bursts of playing time any sub could get all goes to the second keeper

 **Marc-Andre:** Leroy I'm going to say something wrong

 **Leroy:** go ahead im not here to judge

 **Marc-Andre:** I WANT to beat him

 **Marc-Andre:** I want to be better than him I want to get all the credit I want to have the glory

 **Marc-Andre:** I know I sound like a major dickhead but it's the truth and it's why I'm playing football

 **Marc-Andre:** But I think I do love him so it just makes my life difficult

 **Leroy:** MA

 **Marc-Andre:** Uh

 **Marc-Andre:** Eloquent response there Leroy

 **Marc-Andre:** Care to expand?

 **Marc-Andre:** Leroy?

 **Marc-Andre:** L E R O Y

 **Marc-Andre:** Leeeeeeeroyyyyyyy

 **Marc-Andre:** LEROY

 **Marc-Andre:** Ok then bye you cunt

 **Marc-Andre:** Wait

 **Marc-Andre:** Wait...

 **Marc-Andre:** WAIT

 **Marc-Andre:** WAIT NO

 **Marc-Andre:** WAIT NO IT CAN'T BE

 **Marc-Andre:** SAY IT AIN'T SO

 **Marc-Andre:** HAS HER WATER BROKEN

 **Marc-Andre:** HOL UP

 **Marc-Andre:** LEROY YOU NOT TELLING ME SHES GONE INTO LABOUR

 **Marc-Andre:** CAN YOU NOT GIVE A RESPONSE LONGER THAN 'MA' WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN

 **Marc-Andre:** OH MY GOD IS MY GODDAUGHTER ABOUT TO BE BORN

 **Marc-Andre:** LEROY IF YOU DONT DAMN DTELL ME RIGHT NOW

 **Marc-Andre:** AH

 **Marc-Andre:** AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

_Missed call from Marc-Andre ter Stegen._

**Marc-Andre:**  WHAT IN THE HELL!!!

 **Marc-Andre:** CALL ME THE SECOND YOU CAN!!!!!!!!

***

_Private chat between Michael Ballack and Miroslav Klose_

**Michael:** Hey Miro!

 **Michael:** Hope I'm not interrupting anything

 **Michael:** We're still up for after the game right?

 **Miro:** Hell

 **Miro:** Hello how are you

 **Miro:** No you not interrupting

 **Miro:** Yes we rae 

 **Michael:** Miro I'm two years older than you and I use my phone better you have no excuses for your illiteracy

 **Michael:** I'm fine thanks! Tired as hell haven't been able to sleep much haha

 **Michael:** Cool, hopefully it'll be a celebratory drink :)

 **Miro:** I dont knwo why I cannot use my phone :(

 **Miro:** Is a real probl

 **Miro:** :( Sleeping tablet mabe?

 **Miro:** Will be. Im starting :)

 **Michael:** The fax machine was too technologically advanced for you 

 **Michael:** No it's okay, it might just be nerves I don't know

 **Miro:** Nerves?

 **Michael:** Nerves knowing that you're starting, which means Oli and I are going to have to analyse a comedy of errors

 **Miro:** You know Marc-asndre ter Stegen?

 **Michael:** Yes

 **Miro:** He isnt very good at insluting

 **Michael:** Oh shut up I'm not on form right now

 **Michael:** I'll tell Oli to Roy Keane you

 **Miro:** Hattrick incoming ;)

 **Michael:** Nah, I'm not there to assist you

 **Miro:** I wosuld probably scor emore if you weres till here, true

 **Miro:** Im still great though

 **Michael:** Yeah yeah yeah yeah

 **Michael:** Blow your own trumpet too much and you might find yourself playing a funeral song

 **Miro:** Or a vitctory fanfare

 **Michael:** How many times have you slapped wood there Miro mate?

**Miro:**

**Michael:** Hahahah 

 **Michael:** Don't worry you're talking to the most unlucky man in football here

 **Michael:** Nothing that bad will happen to you I assure you

 **Miro:** The most unluc k

 **Miro:** y but also one of the most tal

 **Michael:** Ented?

 **Miro:** Yes I needed a moment there

 **Miro:** Unlucky ecasue you deserved so much more

 **Michael:** Miro what the fuck

 **Michael:** That was so nice shut the hell up

 **Michael:** I don't deserve anything tbh I was the one who singlehandedly created the Neverkusen meme

 **Miro:** No

 **Michael:** Just no?

 **Miro:** No

 **Michael:** No as in... no to me shittalking myself?

 **Miro:** Yes

 **Miro:** I wonr allow it

 **Michael:** I'll do it anyway you can't stop me

 **Miro:** You use to think you were the best

 **Michael:** Yeah... what was I thinking lol

 **Michael:** God now I need to shut the hell up haha

 **Michael:** The real best is you and you'll show it tomorrow snatch a brace or even a headtrick

 **Michael:** Three headers past Lloris and you're the official GOAT

 **Miro:** It was ofcial years ago

 **Miro:** Since vs Saudi

 **Michael:** Yeah... that game

 **Michael:** That game 

 **Michael:** But anyway! This time actually score vs important opposition and it'll be official you fucker

 **Michael:** I think I'm finaly going to try and get some sleep now in the meantime

 **Michael:** I don't want eye bags on TV

 **Michael:** Night :)

 **Miro:** Good luck with oLi

 **Miro:** Goodnight

 **Miro:** See tou

***

_Private chat between Jonas Hector and Mario Gomez_

**Jonas:** (deleted)

 **Jonas:** (deleted)

 **Jonas:** (deleted)

_Private chat between Jonas Hector and Marco Reus_

**Jonas:** (deleted)

 **Jonas:** (deleted)

 **Jonas:** (deleted)

 **Jonas:** (deleted)

 **Jonas:** (deleted)

***

_Private chat between Benedikt Höwedes and Manuel Neuer_

**Manu:**  Benz

 **Manu:** Benz are you there

 **Manu:** I literally can't oh my god I can't

 **Manu:** I can't breathe JEsus christ

 **Manu:** I know I shouldn't be messaging u because u have the game tomorrow but ur not staritng so I thought it;d eb better than wkaing up Thommy who is starting

 **Manu:** But now I feel so stupid just fucking forget it 

 **Manu:** I'm sorry I'm such a fucking idiot lmao I literally want to

 **Manu:** I don't even know I'm ujst sorry ignore me

 **Benni:** No no no 

 **Benni:** I'm here Manu I'm here

 **Benni:** What's wrong??

 **Benni:** Manu

 **Benni:** Manu???

 **Benni:** Manu are you there

 **Benni:** Are you there

 **Benni:** Talk to me what happened

 **Benni:** I'm awake I'm not gonna play tomorrow it's fine you can talk to me as much as you want I can meet you somewhere if you watn

 **Benni:** Manu

 **Manu:** No

 **Manu:** No don't bother just for me it's fine

 **Manu:** It was a stupid dream lmao nothing else

 **Benni:** Manu come on I know it's not stupid

 **Benni:** If you don't want to wake up Thomas at least talk to me

 **Benni:** You can tell me about it say whatever you want

 **Manu:** You need your sleep it's fine

 **Benni:** We both know I'm not most likely nto gonna play tomorrow Mats/Boa are gonna be there for the game

 **Benni:** I won't sleep peacefully if I don't know what's wrong with u

 **Manu:** It was just a dumbass dream fr I woke up and I freaked out but now Im okay again

 **Manu:** I'm fine really 

 **Manu:** It's all good

 **Manu:** I promise

 **Manu:** Night x

 **Benni:** No Manu please don't go I know it's not all good

 **Benni:** You can talk to me I swear

 **Benni:** You can trust me

 **Benni:** I'm really worried about you :(

 **Benni:** Manu God please just talk to me! Or Thomas

 **Benni:** Wake Thomas up fuck the game

 **Benni:** You're more important

 **Benni:** Don't get embarrassed you can talk to me

 **Benni:** I know you feel like you probably can't do it easily now but you can I will listen to literally anything you want to say

 **Benni:** I want to help you 

 **Benni:** We all want to help you 

_Missed call from Benedikt Höwedes._

**Benni:** Oh Manu 

 **Benni:** Please please come back

 **Benni:** Please

 **Benni:** Please just let me help you 

 **Benni:** Please trust me again :( 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys enjoyed the bullshit!


	70. Chapter 70

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 25 !!!  
> MATCHDAY PART 1  
> FRANCE VS GERMANY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> servus leute!
> 
> because i'm a disgusting excuse for a human being this matchday is going to be split into 2 parts, part 1 is some of the pre-match events and part 2 is the match ok i dont know what im talking about there is no structure just know the match is next chapter im sorry u had to wait so long for this nonsensical nosnense TNEI5GHIERGHOIERGHI
> 
> can you guys believe there is now 70 chapters of this utter horse shit? i cant believe that since i decided "lol lets just write a football group chat itd be fun nobody would read it anyway" its turned into this nonsense with over 800 comments and more words than fucking lord of the rings you guys are insane and i love you so much so this is dedicated to EVERYONE absolutely everyone who has read this fic since that first chapter when mesami was the only working plotline you're all the absolute greatest i read every word of your comments over and over again and they all make me smile so much, I LOVE YOU GUYS and i love all the people who gave kudos or even decided lol let me click on this and never read again you're the only reason i've written this stupid bullshit i would've given up long ago without you guys <3333333 
> 
> thanks to the friends i've made on tumblr (btw it's moroslavklose if you wanna follow me) for all my football rants, general nonsense talking and everything, just being there for me! mariangela, ximena, alex, christina, you're all the best!! <333 apart from mariangela she's kind of a cunt who is the basis for serge gnabry and ximena supports barcelona yikes and alex supports liverpool biggest yikes so in reality only christina is the best who gave the idea for joni <3
> 
> ok to the lineups! FOR WHEN THE MATCH EVENTUALLY IS OK DONT KILL ME I LOVE YOU GUYS
> 
> germany-  
> marc-andre  
> jonas  
> jerome  
> mats  
> fips  
> leon  
> basti  
> thomas  
> toni  
> mesut  
> miro
> 
> france (literally pulled out of my ass to include bayern players dont pay it any attention)  
> lloris  
> pavard  
> varane  
> koscielny  
> hernandez  
> kingsley  
> coco  
> kante  
> matuidi  
> griezmann  
> giroud

_Private chat between Sami Khedira and Gianluigi Buffon_

**Gigi:** Ciao Sami

 **Gigi:** I'm just messaging to wish you luck for the game today!

 **Gigi:** I hope things go well for you. Buona fortuna!

 **Sami:** Uh... no you don't, Buffoon.

 **Sami:** You're Italian, you want to watch us suffer

 **Gigi:** Where did you get that idea from?

 **Sami:** You were literally part of the side that ruined the best summer my country ever had with your disgusting excuse for football

 **Gigi:** Bene allora

 **Gigi:** I suppose my good fortune was not well received?

 **Sami:**  Nomi dispiace Gigi

 **Sami:** Sto scherzando

 **Sami:** I mean I'm not joking about Italy being a disgusting excuse for a football team but I am joking in the sentiment that I don't appreciate your fortune

 **Gigi:** Va bene, Sami... 

 **Gigi:** I hope Olivier Giroud will escape the day unscathed!

 **Sami:** GIGI

Sami glared down at his phone, sure the old goalkeeper was having a good chuckle to himself from wherever he was- was it Lichtenstein? He didn't keep up with the irrelevant Italians' fixtures. Wherever Gigi was, Sami didn't appreciate his teasing, especially since he was still embarrassed about the little cone situation that had happened before the international break...

"Who you texting, Sam?" Mesut asked sleepily, having just woken up. His hair was rumpled and he was yawning. "Let me guess, it's Havertz."

"Why would it be Havertz, Mes?" Sami asked in bewilderment, as he ran his fingers through his hair agitatedly. "Why would I ever text that little twit?"

"I don't know, you always scowl like that when you talk to him," Mesut said with a shrug. Sami scowled more deeply. "Who  _are_ you texting, then?"

"The Big Buffoon himself," Sami muttered. "What's it to you? I don't interrogate you about who  _you_ text."

Mesut looked over at Sami and then turned over in bed, wanting to get a bit more sleep, too tired to start squabbling. Sami saw this and picked up a pillow, throwing it at him.

"Get the hell up, Mes," he said more lightly. "It's matchday. I would've thought you would be jumping out of bed in joy."

Mesut made an indistinct grumbling sound. "I never jump out of bed in joy, and I never will. Getting out of bed is always the start of a new, miserable day. Where's the joy?"

"Well that's depressing, Jesus Christ," Sami said, half rolling his eyes and half giving Mesut a slightly concerned look. "Are you sure you won't change your tune if I remind you that you'll be seeing  _Oli_ today?"

As always, it was very difficult to keep a sarcastic edge out of his voice. Sami watched in amazement (and in horror) as Mesut actually sat bolt upright in bed and threw off his sheets at the mention of his  _dear_ friend.

"Shit, yeah!" Mesut said brightly. "We're facing France, aren't we? Oh, man, it's going to be such a crazy game, I can sense it in my soul."

"Hmph, well, I'm glad to see you've found some of that elusive _joy_ ," Sami muttered, his eye twitching slightly. But then he thought about something more serious. "You know, I'm actually kind of worried about the game."

"Oh?" Mesut said in surprise, because Sami's pride would usually _never_ cause him to admit he was concerned about facing an opponent he hated. "Why is that?"

"I know we hung them out to dry the last game, but you have to admit there was a lot of luck on our part," Sami said with a shrug. "Manu was absolutely unreal, for starters, those goals he saved were surely going to go in if anyone else had been between those sticks. And Boa and Mats made some really good clearances on France's better counter-attacks, we would've been fucked if they hadn't thought so fast..."

Mesut hummed contemplatively. "You're not wrong. That quadruple save was just us using hacks. Manu is a cheat code in himself. But even when we do have Manu they still make so many dangerous attacking runs. I know Boa and Mats are basically god-like, but France's front line is no joke themselves. Griezmann, Oli, Mbappe, Lacazette, Coman, Ribery, just look at all those forwards. And their midfield is ridiculous too, Kante, Matuidi, Pogba..."

"One of those is not like the others," Sami joked. 

"Yeah, Ribery is getting on in age," Mesut said sagely. "But he can still pull out all the stops as an impact sub, I've seen some of his Bayern games."

 _That's not who I meant,_ Sami thought grumpily. But he didn't say it aloud, because honestly, would Mesut ever be able to work out who Sami meant? Probably not.

"But it's good, right?" he said instead. "It's good to have some competition and play against the very best, so we can prove that we're the greatest of the great. We can't just face minnows and call ourselves champions. The oranges have a _couple_ of good players, but they're definitely not a world-class team yet. Not that they ever were."

Mesut nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, you're right. If we beat great teams then who's going to doubt us?  _And_ it's more fulfilling to get a shot past Lloris than it is to get one past Cilessen."

"Yeah, right, speak for yourself, Gooner. Always have to slip a stinger in about Tottenham, don't you?" Sami said dryly, for once not feeling the pettiness. "Anyway, I think that if we can stop France's stacked eleven then we can stop anyone."

"We've got a pretty stacked eleven ourselves," Mesut pointed out. "Our tactics leave a lot to be desired sometimes, but we've got enough individual talent to pull it all off. You can't compete with the reliability of Miro- it doesn't matter how plain it looks, he gets the ball at the back of the net. And look at what Thomas can do to create goals. Or how Jeri can pitch those diagonal balls with pinpoint accuracy. We've got a great team, we shouldn't really act like we're working our way up, we're already at the top."

"Yeah, you're right about that," Sami said softly. "Just look at what  _you_ can do."

Mesut looked surprised, even though his cheeks went slightly pink. "Huh?"

"Oh, don't give me that confused look," Sami said irritably, waving away this sudden pretense at humility whilst turning fiercely red himself. "You know that you're some sort of transcendental being on the pitch too. You have a vision that just can't be matched. You're probably one of the best players we've ever had, I've never played with anyone else like you. Forget what the others say about fucking _Giroud_ when they're wanking him off, like Havertz's nonsense about how he's some sort of religious symbol or the _talisman_ of Arsenal- if anyone's the symbol of your shitty team, it's you. You're amazing, Mes. Hell- if you had been playing a couple of decades ago you'd be a Ballon D'Or winner."

_The first time we played together was for the U21 National Team. I knew you, of course. Mesut Özil, Schalke's next best thing. A precocious eighteen year old who could initiate a key pass whilst blindfolded, with unprecedented speed and creativity that excited everybody who watched you. You were also a shy, nervous person who never really knew what to say, and you hadn't really found your identity yet. I could tell you didn't really know who you were or what you wanted off of the pitch. I can't count how many painfully awkward conversations we must have had before we became tentative friends and then the best friends we are today._

_But there's always something different about you when you're playing, Mes. You look as though you have never doubted yourself when you nudge the ball forwards, or pick the perfect time to sprint into an empty space- when you kick that ball you know where it's going to end up. You don't chase after anything, and you don't let anything slip away. When I watch you play, I see that you know who you are, and what you want, and it's... beautiful._

There was a long, long silence. Sami suddenly felt as though he had said something absurd. He tangled his fingers self-consciously behind his back and looked downwards, waiting for Mesut's response.

"Damn, Sami, how much money d'you want me to lend you this time?" Mesut said after a while of this painful silence. Then he started laughing, excessively so. "If this is you buttering me up for a favour,  _man,_ Juve must not be treating you right..."

Sami looked up at him in confusion, and then his whole face flooded crimson as he realised Mesut was making fun of him. He shoved his friends backwards.

"Hey! I don't need any money from you, I was just trying to be  _nice!"_ he yelled, extremely flustered. Mesut laughed even harder. Sami preferred it when he was looking gloomy...

"It's okay, Sami, you don't need to remind me I'm Arsenal's best paid player- oh, I'm sorry, I mean  _Arsenal's symbol-_ " Mesut snorted loudly. "- you can just _ask_ me if you want me to float you a couple of Euros-"

" _Mes!_ "

"Ich mach nur Spaß!" Mesut laughed, as Sami turned away from him and folded his arms petulantly. "Ich mach nur Spaß. Es war ein Witz. Thank you, Sami. That was kind of you to say, really. I can always count on you to make me sound more impressive than I really am. You're too sweet."

"Oh, shut up," Sami said gruffly, his ever-deepening blush giving him away. "I was just... I... I just wanted you motivated for today, you know? 'Cause you're so lazy you need a kick up the ass to do anything on the pitch."

"You changed your tune quickly," Mesut said wryly. "I thought I was _some sort of transcendental being on the pitch_? _"_

"I was just saying that because... because..." Sami struggled to find words. 

"Because..." Mesut prompted, grinning slyly.

"Oh, just go away!" Sami yelled, flushing. "I didn't mean any of it, I actually hate you and think you're the worst worse than even Shkrodan on your stupid team! Others _ten two_ agree! Get it! _Ten-two! Because you got beaten 10-2 by Bayern!_ So actually you're not that great after all so you can stop looking so self-assured you big goofy Nemo looking motherfucker-"

All of a sudden, Mesut grabbed Sami and pulled him into a hug, cutting him off in the middle of his rant. Sami wrestled with his friend for a moment in surprise, refusing to give in to this sudden bout of affection, he couldn't be defeated by such things- but eventually he conceded and relaxed into the smaller man's strangely gentle embrace. Suddenly they were clinging onto each other, warmth and something else flowing through them... it almost felt like they had both been opened up, something inside of them being exposed between them...

"I wouldn't be the player I am today if I hadn't had you by my side," Mesut whispered into Sami's shoulder. His voice was suddenly small, as if he didn't want Sami to hear him, but Sami caught every word. "You know that, right?"

"Mes..." Sami murmured. 

_Becoming a better player isn't just about the hours you pour into training on the pitch, or in the gym. It's about learning lessons whilst being with a team, when you get into stupid scraps over what formation is better or when you get irritated when your teammate doesn't pass you the ball. It's about developing trust in the people who will always be there with you, through rainy training sessions or shithouse defeats away. It's about recognising your own limits and understanding how other people can complement those limits to make the team a whole._

_We may play completely different styles of football, but over the years we have grown together and learnt so much from each other. I learnt composure from you, Sami, when all my pretty passes never produced an end result and we lost frustratingly. From you I learnt how to stop expecting matches to have a fairytale narrative, that sometimes stupid and uninspiring losses happen. I learnt that I needed to inject more purpose into my game, instead of treating the pitch like a playground where I could run around loosely and freely._

_I might have had the raw talent, but if you hadn't been there to help me refine that talent, I would be like the countless other footballers who can create magic with their feet but can't translate it onto the pitch. Your companionship hasn't only turned me into a better player, hell, I'm a much better person now than I was when I was a lazy, conceited teenager who expected to have the world beneath my feet._ _You made my life less turbulent, less full of the uncertainty I hate so much- I can always rely on you to be at the other end of the line when I need someone to talk to after another away loss._

_I value our friendship so much, and I don't ever want it to change. If it had been different back then, then we wouldn't be where we are now._

The two of them were still for several moments. The only thing that Sami could hear was Mesut's slightly shaky breathing. His own eyes were wide in confusion, where had this... vulnerability come from? Then, abruptly, the Arsenal man pulled away and gave Sami a nervous smile.

"You know, Havertz thinks I'm some sort of GOAT too, he goes off on speeches worse than yours all the time. But d'you think he would rate me over Oli?" he asked cheekily. Sami was still trapped in the moment and didn't register his words. "Or d'you think his gayness ranks higher than his hero-worship?"

"I..." 

"I'll have to ask him. I wouldn't be too surprised if he's more in favour of Oli, though, he just has that effect on people, you know?" Mesut was talking very quickly, busying himself with fixing up his bedsheets, his face very, very red. "At first I found it weird, the squad's fixation on him, I mean, but now I can see where they're all coming from. Let's just hope  _they_ don't pass him the ball, haha, I- I wouldn't put it past Thomas..."

_He's still talking about Olivier fucking Giroud?_

"I'm- I'm gonna go and brush my teeth," Mesut said, his voice overly hearty. "I'm gonna brush my teeth, and, and get myself fixed up, I feel like a mess. You can go on downstairs without me if you want..."

Sami didn't respond. Mesut didn't look at Sami again as he disappeared into the bathroom.

_"You've settled into this routine and you're scared of making things wobble, and I get that. But if you go against the odds and push you could end up being so, so happy-"_

_But he doesn't want that, Jeri,_ Sami thought.  _That's why he's always like this. He's so scared of letting even little things change. That's why he always pushes me away just at the moment... The moment when..._

Sami's phone was buzzing again, with messages from Gigi, who was pleading forgiveness. He didn't look at them. He curled his fingers tightly around his phone and stared at the closed bathroom door.

***

_The players of FC Schalke 04 were not entirely sure whether the existence of Manuel Neuer was a blessing or a punishment. When he dived to smack the ball out of bounds after a misstep from an outfield player, the team breathed a collective sigh of relief- before breaking out in a cold sweat, knowing that their error, even if it had not had any consequences, was not going to go forgotten. If they so much as dared to look the wrong way when a corner kick was coming in Manu would threaten to twist their heads in the right direction. And, not even the Lord himself could help them if a goal hit the back of the net due to a lapse in judgement from the defenders..._

_His floppy blond hair and boyish face were just part of his terrifying presence. Later on, when he had moved on from Schalke and had put on a Barcelona shirt, Ivan Rakitic had sworn blind that Manuel Neuer was the only man he had ever feared in football, to skepticism from his teammates, who thought he just looked goofy. And he was so young, how could he be so intimidating? Ivan maintained that they simply didn't understand. Nobody could understand if they hadn't played with him._

_There was only one man who was entirely resistant to Manuel Neuer's infamous glower- and as far as the Schalke players were concerned, this was a more impressive power than anything Jesus Christ could come out with._

_"ÖZIL! RAKITIC! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING, DO YOU THINK THIS IS A COTILLION? PASS THE GODDAMN BALL FORWARDS BEFORE YOU GIVE IT AWAY AND IT ENDS UP IN MY NET!"_

_Rakitic immediately sped forwards with the ball, with Mesut chasing after him in a bid to get away from Manu. The waves of irritation rolling off the man today had not escaped anybody's attention and nobody was eager to spend too much time in close contact with him. Even his defenders were lingering a little further ahead of him than they usually did- all except one._

_"Manu, oh Manu," Benni sighed, as the attacking players on the other side of the training pitch tried to get past Schober. "You've got to try a bit better than that to get past me."_

_Manu turned his head in surprise, registered what Benni was saying, and then glared at him- until he realised it was having no impact on the defender at all. Then his gaze flickered towards the ground._

_"The hell are you talking about?" he muttered._ _Benni gave a little laugh and made a sweeping gesture in Manu's general direction_ _._

_"You really think amping up the old 'I'm Manuel Neuer, I'm going to rip your balls off' act is going to make me miss the fact you're obviously not okay?" he said simply. "I'm not like these other pussies. You can't keep me at bay with that."_

_Manu's scowl was very telling. "Shut up, Benz."_

_Benni only arched his eyebrows challengingly as a cross came into Manu's box and the sweeper keeper booted it out distractedly- there was so much force behind his kick that it flew right out of bounds._

_"Manu, come on," he said lightly, as Manu swore vehemently, making Kevin Kuranyi jump from nearby. "You might as well just tell me, because I'll find out eventually. What's the matter with you?"_

_There was a mocking edge to his tone, but beneath that, real concern. Manu set his jaw, knowing that Benni's obstinacy was second to none and that he would probably go to his grave trying to make sure that Manu was okay. The two of them looked each other in the eyes, Benni slightly amused, Manu angry-_

_"Fucking hell, Benz," Manu grumbled, after a few moments of this silent stand-off. "You are the limit."_

_"So you say." Benni edged forwards and sent a long ball down the length of the training pitch so he could increase the time they got to speak with one another. "I'm sure I could test that limit, though."_

_"Yeah, you probably could." Manu gave a grudging chuckle, the first semblance of a positive emotion that had appeared on his face all day. "It's nothing, Benz, really. I had a bad night last night."_

_Benni's eyes softened. "I see."_

_"Yeah, you do," Manu muttered._   _"Bad night, barely slept. Woke up with a hell of a headache and... yeah."_

_"And was the night bad because..." Benni left his sentence hanging. Manu stared at the ground._

_"Course. I never said it was something reasonable," he groused. "Just a stupid fucking dream, and then my heart deciding to go AWOL on me. I was panting like goddamn Kuranyi after a single lap. It's not the most pleasant of feelings in the world, you know? I'm shattered. So I'm sorry if my acting skills aren't as_ on par _as they usually are."_

 _"I'm sorry," Benni said quietly. Manu waved a dismissive hand, but Benni pressed on. "You shouldn't have to use any acting skills in the first place, Manu. You know you can talk to me if you're feeling like shit, instead of hiding it. If you don't tell_  someone, _it's all going to build up inside of you until you explode like a pressure cooker and take us all out."_

_"That wouldn't be so bad," Manu said wryly. Benni gave him a half-amused, half-serious look. "Yeah, right, okay, Benz. Maybe I should talk, whatever. But this all just makes me feel like such an idiot. All of Germany is looking at me now, expecting nothing but the best from me as such a hot future prospect. And here I am having a couple of bad dreams and falling apart like a Jenga tower. It's so dumb."_

_He poked a ball back out across the pitch with his foot, displaying his incredible reflexes, all whilst never taking his eyes off Benni, who looked contemplative._

_"You're putting too much into the football side of things and not enough into yourself," Benni said. "We all know you're a different person on the pitch and off of it. You've got no obligations to the spectators, you don't have to change your real self just for them. If you're struggling, you're struggling, and you should come to terms with that, and try to help yourself."_

_Manu twitched irritably. "It's just a couple of bad dreams. Everyone gets them. I don't need help."_

_"It's not just dreams, though, is it? And don't act as though they're unimportant or irrelevant, they sound really scary. Even the likes of Kahn would find them difficult to deal with," Benni said sternly. "Look, Manu. You're not just Schalke's keeper, you know? You're a human being. Stop trying to act so cool, you're just like the rest of us and you deserve help like the rest of us."_

_Manu didn't say anything, but he was dubious. It surprised him that Benni didn't understand. Being a goalkeeper you were already simultaneously the most vulnerable and the most important person on the team, and a few moments every match all eyes were on you- you held the result of the game in your hands. You had to be the sharpest of the sharp, you had to be able to apply pressure and take pressure- if you couldn't, it meant defeat. In a results business like football, defeats would not do. It was a goalkeeper's job to weather the storms and protect his team from losing points. How could he do that if his mind was wandering to stupid, petty fears?_

_He had to rise ever further, ever higher, and become the strongest he could be. He had to fortify his defences and make sure he showed not a single break in composure. He was a 'radical', the harbringer of a new age in goalkeeping, which meant that all eyes would be on him from now on- and he could not let those eyes see the weakness that lingered beneath his tough surface._

_"Manu," Benni said, noticing Manu's distant gaze. "Manu!"_

_"Yeah, what, Benz?" Manu mumbled._

_"Promise me you'll talk to me," Benni said firmly. "Promise me that even if you're feeling even a little bit bad, you'll come and tell me about it. I'll help you. We're in this thing together, right? Taking Schalke up the table. Being there for each other off the pitch, too. Me and you. Nothing can change that. I want to help you."_

_Manu smiled. Maybe it would be okay... if one pair of eyes got to saw a little bit of the weakness. After all, as he had said, Benni was difficult to get past anyway..._

_"Alles klar," he said with a shrug._

_Benni opened his arms and Manu walked into them._ _The hug was strong and steady and lasted for several seconds, and only broke apart when Mesut came streaking up towards their half of the pitch. Almost impatiently, Manu threw himself at the resulting shot and batted it away before getting up again to finish the hug._

Manu stared down at his phone, the messages he had sent in his fear and adrenaline last night flashing before his eyes. And then there were Benni's responses. His final message, a small, broken shard to the heart.  _Please trust me again._

 _You've got the wrong end of the stick, Benni,_ Manu thought helplessly.  _I'm the problem here, not you._

Last night he had dreamed of being back in Gelsenkirchen, in front of his old home, watching it burn. Thomas had been there, begging for him to run, but Manu couldn't- he had known Benni was still in the house. He had run back into the house, where Benni had been screaming at him,  _why did you leave me, Manu? Why?_ And then Thomas had run after him, yelling for him to save himself- but Manu had been unable to move. He had watched helplessly, as he had dragged both Thomas and Benni to their doom, it had been all his fault...

He had given into the weakness. He had dragged others into his mess. Everything was his fault.

He shuddered, switching his phone off, just as Thomas left the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his neck, looking nervous.

"Everyone's worried about you, my darling," he said quietly to Manu, who was sitting at the edge of his bed, waiting. "They'll ask you questions, you know."

Manu gave a cocky smirk. His stomach was churning. "I can handle it. All I have to do is give them half an angry look, and they'd stop asking soon enough."

He tugged at the sleeves of his hoodie, still feeling as though it was leaving him exposed. Thomas gave the tip of Manu's nose a light, distracted kiss, brushing his fingers through Manu's hair.

"We'll be home soon enough, my darling," he whispered. "We'll be home. Then you'll be able to see Herr Becker. You'll be fine."

"Yeah..." Manu mumbled. "I'll be fine. I've got you."

***

"Jonas? Jonas. _Jonas._ "

It appeared that Jonas hadn't been listening to a word Toni had been saying for the past couple of minutes- the left-back was staring down at a plate of toast as though it possessed all the darkest secrets in the universe. Toni stopped talking, frowning, and glanced at Benni, who was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to notice Jonas' silence, then at Mats, who was building a tower out of discarded orange slices. Jerome was, of course, texting Robert. Toni rolled his eyes, why was everyone in their own world today?

"Jooonas. Jonas, Jonas, Jonas. Herr Hector." Toni leaned closer to Jonas, who kept staring blankly at his toast. Then he reached his hand out and snapped his fingers in the man's face. "Jonas!"

Jonas flinched backwards almost excessively and looked at Toni in alarm. And then his face relaxed.

"Oh, man!" he said distractedly. "I'm so sorry, Toni, I didn't realise you were talking to me. I kind of..."

"Zoned out for a second. Don't worry about it," Toni said, as the defender opened his mouth to begin apologising. "I understand completely, I do it when Jeri is going off about Lewandowski all the time. But, Jonas, are you, like, okay? You look..."

He hesitated, not really sure of the right words to say.  _Fucking exhausted? Kind of pissed? As if you just don't care anymore?_ He felt those words would be a little  _too_ to the point. But Jonas really didn't look too good, and he was, once again, concerned.

Jonas pressed his fingertips against his eyelids as if to ward off a bright light and took a deep breath, before saying, "I'm just fine, Toni, thank you."

"Well... if you say so, then," Toni muttered, again not wanting to push. He looked towards Benni, who was still frowning into space, and then to Mats and Jerome. "I guess I'll just talk to myself."

"Sorry," Jonas said, with an effort, withdrawing his hands from his eyes and putting on a bright smile. "I can talk if you want-"

"Nah, don't worry about it, if you need to get some focus in you before the game, that's fine by me," Toni said, giving Jonas a pat on the shoulder. "Do some... meditation, or some shit like that. God knows I probably need some too."

"Hey, you can talk to me, Junge," Jerome said vaguely, in a delayed reaction to Toni's previous statement. He was waving one hand whilst still texting with the other. His hand found Toni's face. "I'm giving you my full attention."

"I'd rather you didn't," Toni said flatly, batting away Jerome's hand. He turned to Benni. "So, Benni, what's wrong with you, then?"

Benni gave Toni a look that effectively said, _shut up and go away._ Mats shrugged at Toni from beside him, knowing from experience that it was probably best to give Benni some space when he was in such a mood. Toni heeded the message and lapsed into silence, balancing on the back of his chair legs instead as Jonas' hands returned to cover his face.

Everyone else seemed just as cheerful as always, chattering away about the upcoming game, with insults flying and various serious tactical discussions taking place around the room. Marco, who was going to be on the bench (with no chance of getting a minute on the pitch), was pretending to deep-throat a banana in front of Fips whilst Leon and Basti sang the _are you gay_ song. . Kai was gushing about Olivier Giroud, while Julian Brandt banged his head on the table, having had  _enough_ of hearing about the French striker. Lukas was wrestling with Niklas after the Arsenal striker had brashly announced he could easily take the German giant in a fight.

"TAKE A HIKE, FAT BOY!" Lukas yelled triumphantly, as he managed to shove Niklas off of him- for a brief second.

"FAT BOY?" Niklas roared, his whole face flooding crimson- an impressive sight, given how big his face was. "RIGHT, PODOLSKI, I'LL SHOW YOU WHETHER THERE'S FAT ON THIS BODY OR NOT-"

He cracked his knuckles, by all means a terrifying sound, but Lukas, who wasn't afraid of anything, grinned maliciously, beckoning for Niklas to approach him.

"RIGHT!" Fips bellowed, pulling Marco's banana out of his mouth and shoving it in his ear. Marco pulled the banana out of his ear and threw it at Mats, who threw a loaf of bread back at him in return. "PODOLSKI AND SÜLE, STEP AWAY FROM EACH OTHER THIS SECOND! THIS IS NOT HOW WE SHOULD BE BEHAVING BEFORE A DIFFICULT MATCH!"

Niklas paid Fips absolutely no heed.  As Lukas braced for his charge, the giant centreback drew his arm backwards-

And hit his elbow against someone else's chest.

From the suddenly wary expressions on everyone's faces, and the fact the chest was as solid as iron, Niklas assumed that when he turned around, he was not about to be met by the sight of Jonas...

"Süle."

The person standing behind him, slightly shorter than Niklas yet seemingly towering above him, was none other than Manuel Neuer. With Thomas trying not to laugh beside him. 

" _Oh, hey!_ " Niklas said in a very high-pitched voice. "It's Manu! Manuel Neuer! Our lord and saviour, our GOAT! We were just- Lukas and I were only having-"

"A fight to see who's stronger," Lukas said with savage relish. "And I'm edging it at the moment, Manu, so get out of the way."

Niklas gave Lukas a wide eyed look, silently asking him, _are you out of your damn mind?_  "Actually my dear Manuel sir we were training for the match I am strongly focused right now you know if I come onto the pitch to replace one of those broken down buffers I will be in tip-top shape I am so focused in my role as a defender not a single goal will get into the net ever while I play in a Germany shirt ahahahahaha I'm going to sit down now!"

He almost ran to sit down by Joshua, who was roaring with laughter at the fact that Manu had said exactly one word and Niklas had been reduced to... this. Fips was amazed. Lukas was highly indignant. 

"Hey, you fucking pussy, we're not done here yet-"

"Yes, you are," Basti said, rolling his eyes heartily, pulling Lukas back into his seat. "Niklas was crushing you anyway. Manu, hey, man, how are you feeling?"

The goalkeeper was clad in a DFB hoodie and looking positively shattered. A crowd of people leapt up to greet him properly. Jerome, in traditional Jerome fashion, bounded over to give Manu a big affectionate hug. Marc-Andre wrung his hands and promised Manu he wouldn't make so much as a mistimed step off of his line, and Miro also gave Manu a soft, steady embrace, murmuring something in the big man's ear.

"It's just the flu, guys, I've not come back from war," Manu croaked, giving Miro a grateful smile. Everyone winced at how scratchy and raw his voice sounded. "If you all keep looking at me like that I'll come and fold you up like paper planes. I'm only here to supervise, so you don't fuck up without me between the sticks. Looks like it was needed."

Somehow he still managed to look imposing. Niklas in particular made himself as small as he could possibly be under the titan's powerful gaze. Lukas looked as though he couldn't care less.

"There's our Manu, threaten me some more," Leon said delightedly. Then he shrunk away at the weird look Manu gave him. "That sounded much different in my head."

"It better have." Manu turned resolutely away from Leon as the man pulled out his phone to send pictures of him to Serge. He then immediately regretted it as he made eye contact with Benni.

Benni stared hard at Manu, at his almost grey face, the purplish shadows under his eyes and the way he moved, almost dragging his feet across the ground, which was so unlike him, he was usually so poised. Manu stared at him back, and there was a hint of a plea in his eyes- _please, let's not talk about last night now._

Benni thought about the messages _he_ had sent to Manu- his rising desperation for the goalkeeper to just talk to him, his final vulnerable confession, that he wanted the man to trust him again. The memory of what he had written in his worry made his cheeks burn and his stomach roll. Benni didn't hold anything against Manu at all, he knew how difficult it must be for him to talk about his problems, but the fact still stood that things between them hadn't recovered enough for Manu to talk to him comfortably...

 _Please trust me again._ God, he was such a fool. It wasn't going to be so easy, and that was his fault, him and his goddamn resentment...

Benni stood up just as Thomas made to sit down next to him. Manu was now looking away from him.

"Benni?" Mats said, resting a hand on Benni's back. His expression was worried. "Something wrong?"

"Need to go to the toilet," Benni said vaguely. The back of his throat was burning. He strode away from the table, leaving Mats looking concerned and confused and Thomas shrugging as he reached for a jug of water.

Manu was suddenly blinking very hard.

Miro had been steadily working his way through a large bowl of muesli throughout most of the morning- his appetite tended to come and go on big matchdays, but he knew he needed to eat well before he went out to play, so even if he felt a bit nervous, he had to force something down. Mario Gomez, on the other end of the spectrum, had not touched one single food item and had his head in his arms. Miro had noticed his lethargy since he had woken up- but naturally, enquiring about it had not led to Mario offering him any sort of explanation for his behaviour. 

"Just have some fruit. One croissant. Anything. Mario, you've got to eat," Miro chided him gently. "What's the matter with you? Are you crying?"

"No, Miro, Jesus Christ. I'm fine. I just couldn't sleep," Mario said gruffly into the table. "As much as I tried."

"Then you need to get your energy back. Eat, drink some water, stretch your legs a bit," Miro said worriedly. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

Mario shifted his head slightly so he was peering out through a gap in his arms. His eyes flickered to the right, and Miro followed his gaze. For some reason, Mario was looking at Jonas, who still had his face covered. Then Mario closed the gap again.

"I don't know, Miro, I really don't," he mumbled. "These things happen."

Miro stared at Jonas for a while, trying to discern something from the left-back's behaviour, but he wasn't doing anything, really. Miro returned his gaze to Mario sadly. He was so  _worried_ about the man. After several seconds of Mario not acknowledging him, he turned his attention to his muesli again.

The international break would be ending soon enough... And they would all be returning to their homes... And then Mario would continue to silently endure whatever pain he was enduring, but alone...

 _Or maybe he isn't alone,_ Miro thought.  _Maybe he does have people to talk to, maybe you're not one of them. Maybe his problem is to do with you..._

Miro shook his head. He needed to focus on the match, get his mind away from this topic... But that remorse was rising within him again...

Marc-Andre had anxiously told everybody about Leroy's arbitrary disappearance last night, and how he still didn't know whether Rio Stella Marc-Andre Sané was being born yet or not. Everybody had responded with about as much seriousness as was expected- in that Jerome had thrown an apple at the goalkeeper for using the wrong middle name, and another discussion had started up so that everyone could express their abject disbelief that Leroy was going to be a father.

"My goddaughter could be being born right now," Marc-Andre complained to Julian Draxler and Joshua. "And nobody even cares."

" _I_ care," Joshua said haughtily, in a tone that indicated he was only saying it to make himself appear morally superior and not because he held any actual concern for Leroy's daughter. "I doubt Jule does, though, he's probably too fixated on the prospect of seeing  _Kimpembe_ again-"

"Josh, he is my literal teammate, are you telling me you wouldn't be happy to see Coman again?" Julian said, pressing his hands against his eyes. "Or Tolisso?"

Joshua scowled.

"Or Ribery, you're telling me you don't want to get an eyeful of Ribery?" Julian suggested. "Come on, Josh, you know that even you can't resist Ribery's scintillating, seductive charms-"

"Oh, shut up," Joshua said, though he was trying not to laugh.

"Or even Deschamps, now, I'm not saying I would hit Deschamps, but there's something about him that's so powerfully _alluring_ , you just can't take your eyes off of him when he's pacing up the sidelines with his nostrils flared-"

"You're such an idiot,  _shut up,_ Jule-"

"Or, the creme de la creme- one Olivier Giroud, with those pulsating muscles around those jagged shoulder blades-" Marc-Andre winced as Joshua's eyes flashed. "It was a joke, Josh, a joke!"

Marc-Andre shook his head as Julian kissed Joshua to make up for his obscene words. "Yeah, I can see you two really care about Leroy..."

He looked towards the other end of the table, where Bernd and Mesut were talking about something, Bernd looking completely neutral, even a little deflated. Marc-Andre looked down at his hands and thought about the conversation they had had this morning.

_"Bernd," Marc-Andre said quietly, as Bernd pulled a hoodie over his head. He made sure to keep his voice detached. "Are you alright?"_

_Bernd adjusted his hood and ran his hand through his hair a couple of times in front of the mirror. "Yeah. I'm fine."_

_"You're bullshitting me, aren't you?" Marc-Andre said. "You're not really fine."_

_"What's the point of asking me if you're not going to believe what I say anyway?" Bernd said irritably._

_"Maybe it's because I'm not stupid enough to believe your attempts at acting," Marc-Andre said, suddenly heated. "You can put on a pretty good show in front of the others, but you're an open book to me..."_

_"Oh, really?" Bernd snapped. "What have you read from me, with your high powers of perception, Herr Ter Stegen?"_

_Marc-Andre scowled deeply. "Don't make fun of me."_

_"Don't fucking patronise me, then!" Bernd said angrily. "You don't need to ask me whether I'm alright or not, as if you care that my feelings have been hurt by you starting. Don't bother with any of that! Just be happy in your spotlight and stop pretending you don't enjoy seeing me on the bench!"_

_"So you think that little of me?" Marc-Andre yelled after him, as Bernd stormed out of the room.  "You think I'm that self-absorbed..."_

Am _I some sort of selfish monster?_ Marc-Andre thought anxiously, probing his feelings. Do _I get pleasure out of seeing Bernd wasting away on the bench?_

_I have pride. I'm still a man, relationship or not, who wants the best for himself. I can't throw away my own ambitions in the name of love and Bernd should realise that... He's fighting just as hard to dispossess me of my title, after all..._

_I_ do  _want to be the best... No matter what the cost might be... And I want to prove myself to be better than Bernd, fair and square... But..._

He bit his lip. It felt wrong to ruminate upon throwing Manu off of his throne, especially when the German number one was so ill. It felt even more wrong to dream of overshadowing your... boyfriend. Marc-Andre wasn't a child competing for glory, he was a professional. This was work, he had to detach himself from his emotions when he was on the pitch... all he had to do was put in the best he could do, he couldn't let anything else factor into his performances...

He had to forget about Bernd for the time being and focus on his job. He would do a damn good one today, he had to.

He was about to be a godfather, after all. He needed to give Rio Stella Marc-Andre Sané someone to look up to.

***

The coach journey to the stadium had been going swimmingly, at least by Fips' low standards. Although everybody was full of energy for the match ahead, it seemed as though they had honed that energy into aggressive self-motivation rather than unleashing it for the sake of causing sheer chaos. Some adjusted seating arrangements on the bus also helped Fips' blood pressure- Jerome, who was a grounding force for anybody, was sitting next to Marco, well away from Benni and Mats, Mario Götze had split up Steno and was sitting with Bernd, and Fips himself, along with Leon, was sitting well away from Kai and Julian.  _And_ Basti and Lukas.

Jerome was staring down at his phone as the coach rolled across the city. He had, of course, been texting Robert since the early hours of morning, full of reassurances, and when those reassurances failed, simple affection. Robert had banned Jerome from wishing him good luck and had rejected any sort of belief Jerome had shown in him- which was to be expected, given Robert's recent state of mind, but it still made Jerome feel broken for his boyfriend. 

He shook his head. He wasn't going to let Robert defeat  _his_ excessive affection.

_Private chat between Jerome Boateng and Robert Lewandowski_

**Jerome:** i love u and ur the best no matter what hapepns in the world

 **Robert:** I love you more and no you're the best 

 **Jerome:** no u

 **Robert:** No u

 **Jerome:** no u

 **Robert:** No U

 **Jerome:** nobody loves anyone more than i love you

 **Robert:** You'd be wrong, because I love you more than you love me

 **Jerome:** imagine saying something that categorically wrong

 **Robert:** Nie ty 

 **Jerome:** NEIN DU

**Robert:**

**Jerome:**

A voice interrupted this deeply meaningful conversation. "How is Lewandowski?"

It was a question that would sound completely normal coming out of anyone else's mouth, but Marco had an uncanny knack of making  _anything_ sound perplexing. Especially when it was to do with the ex-teammates he had spent the best part of the last few years resenting. Jerome had to stare at him very hard for a few seconds to make sure he had heard the right words from the Dortmund captain, until he received a swift punch in the shoulder.

"I said,  _how is Lewandowski?_ " Marco yelled irritably, as Jerome rubbed his arm in confusion. "Stop gawking at me like a goddamn fish and answer my question, Jeri!"

"Okay, okay!" Jerome was completely bewildered. "He's... well... you know. Not exactly on top of the world at the moment. He's completely demotivated. He told me before that he was going to go into the Portugal match without any unrealistic expectations of himself, but that'll probably go out of the window the second they bag a goal..."

Marco scowled deeply, but his eyes were thoughtful. Jerome watched him warily, expecting some sort of flammatory joke, but instead, Marco tipped his head back against his seat and shook his head.

"I don't like seeing Lewandowski like this," he said shortly. "All full of self-doubt, I mean. I prefer it when he's cocky and playing the best he can play, so when I face him I can pull him down from his pedestal and prove that I'm better than him." 

"I don't like seeing him like this either," Jerome said sadly, staring out of the coach window.  "My Rob is always full of life and light, and he always tries his best with the National Team, for his father, for _himself_ \- but with everything that's happened with Poland, it feels like he's losing his resolve. It doesn't matter what anyone says, he just punishes himself with self-reproach and digs himself deeper into a hole."

Marco frowned.  He was no stranger to irrational self-reproach... "Maybe if they get a new coach, things will change for them, and Robert will be able to accept that Poland's current form isn't all his fault."

"Maybe," Jerome sighed. He gave a dramatic moan and leaned his head against Marco's shoulder. "They're definitely one bad result away from  _someone_ getting the cut... Poland's been in decline for the past year or so anyway..."

"If anything, it's the opposite of Lewandowski's fault. It's not like he's shit, loathe as I am to admit it," Marco said flatly. "I mean, just look at what the bastard did when he came back from the 6-0 thrashing the first time- he scored a hattrick versus us.  _Which_ I paid him back in kind for."

Jerome rolled his eyes as Marco grinned self-indulgently, kissing both of his biceps. "A different team set-up, a change of coach, a boost in morale, who knows what can help Poland. I just hope they don't lose too badly today..."

Marco wasn't the type of person to fill someone with false hope. Poland had been appalling versus Italy, and with Portugal practically trampling over everybody in their path recently, there was little hope for Poland. However...

"You never know, Jeri," he said wisely, pressing his own head against Jerome's. "We like to think football is neat and logical, that big fucks small and that's that, but this is a paradoxical sport. Just look at Schalke! Second place last season and now they're fifteenth and drawing to  _Nürnberg._ Then you had Barcelona stomping Roma 4-1 and getting destroyed 3-0 the next leg. A team could be in the worst form in the world and somehow put two past a giant. Nothing is set in stone, you know? This sport is pure dynamism. In that way football's like life- dynamics decide things more than any kind of careful planning, and precedent pretty much goes ignored. Luck, universal tampering and pure shithousery also comes into play. So... don't rule big Bob out too quickly."

His voice was matter-of-fact but his eyes were soft.

"I'd never rule him out, he's my baby and he's the best," Jerome mumbled, looking down. Marco rolled his eyes and refrained from reminding the man that he had been hoping just a few seconds ago that Robert wouldn't lose too badly. "... Thank you, Marco."

"Yeah, whatever," Marco said. "I'm just stating facts."

"And being kind, you stupid idiot. That was actually really sweet, and it reassured me."

Marco waved his hand irritably and called Robert a rude name to balance out the scales. Jerome hit him.

"I'm glad it reassured you," he said, after the two of them had a mini wrestling match. "Right now, you just need to focus on the game ahead. I understand that you're required by law to worry about Lewandowski until your sorry end, but at least take these ninety minutes to pour your concentration into your game and get a win for us. Get rid of some of the tension from your shoulders."

Jerome flexed his shoulder, displaying his impressive biceps in the process. "Maybe you're right. At least I won't have to watch whatever happens in Robert's game, because they're at the same time again..."

"So you won't have to stress about it, at least until it's over," Marco said soothingly. "It'd do you some good, a bit of stress relief, you've been looking wound up recently."

"Look who's talking," Jerome said, suddenly looking at Marco through narrowed eyes. Marco was an expert at keeping eye contact usually, but there was something a little too penetrating about Jerome's gaze. "You've been pretty  _wound_ up too, recently, if I'm not mistaken. But you don't have ninety minutes to take your mind off it all..."

Jerome was no shirker on the observation front, everyone in the squad knew that. Leroy was the only anomaly in his usually perfect streak of  _noticing_ things about people. It was always going to be only a matter of time before  _he_ brought up any concerns he had about Marco...

Marco forced his expression to be neutral. It would've been more convincing if Jonas had not been sitting two rows ahead of him and Jerome. "The hell are you talking about? I'm fine."

"Don't give me that bullshit," Jerome said dismissively. "Come on, surely you must not be feeling on top of the world at the moment, what with your knee, and..."

"And what?" Marco said evenly. 

Jerome hesitated, and then gave himself away by glancing over to where Mario was sitting with Bernd. Marco tightened his jaw.

"Has Mario told you something, Jeri?" he asked in a soft voice.

"No," Jerome mumbled. Marco raised an eyebrow. It was almost as powerful as Manu's famous eyebrow arch. "Okay, maybe he told me  _something..._ He's just worried about you, Junge."

Marco sighed. _Of course, this again_. "You know what? He's worse than you with his fucking worrying."

"Hey, come on, that's a bit harsh," Jerome said, frowning. "He's bound to be concerned, I mean, fortune hasn't been kind to you, recently-"

"When is it ever?" Marco said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"- you should give him a bit more reassurance, you're his boyfriend and you have to  _communicate_  with him-"

_Oh Jesus Christ, Jeri and his obsession with communication. I'm in for it now._

"Jeri," Marco said slowly and carefully. "I tell Mario that I'm fine at least twenty times a day, and he refuses to believe me twenty times a day. What's the point in _communicating_ if everything you say goes ignored?"

"Yeah, of course communication seems a bit pointless when everything you say is a lie anyway," Jerome said wryly.

Marco glared at Jerome. "What?"

"Come on, Marco, we've known each other for a long time," Jerome said softly. "I know how important your pride is to you, and I know that you don't like showing vulnerability-"

"It's got nothing to do with my  _pride,_ " Marco said tightly. Which was kind of a lie, his pride  _was_ a factor in this complex equation of bullshit. 

Jerome raised his eyebrows. "Then is it to do with Mario?"

"Wh-what?" Marco was caught completely off-guard. "Where the hell do you get that idea from?"

"Oh, I don't know. Something about watching you break off ties completely with my Rob and then Mats, and seeing how you never want to rebuild that friendship with them again, and putting the pieces together to understand how conflicted you might feel about Mario, who left as well," Jerome said airily. His tone didn't match the look on his face- he suddenly looked very gentle and understanding. "I don't know if you know, but  _I_ was the inevitable shoulder to cry on for Mario when that shit between you was going down. Well, everyone was at some point, but I was the original shoulder-crier."

Marco didn't know where to look. He suddenly felt trapped. The coach was drawing nearer and nearer to the Stade de France, the rowdiness was building, but instead of filling him with energy like it usually did it made him feel as though he was suffocating. It felt like Jerome had hit him on the break, which, of course, he had done. Oh, Jerome was _good_. Marco had the feeling Jerome had been holding back so he could hit him with this surprise attack.

"You don't trust him, do you?" Jerome said quietly, after a couple of moments of Marco silently panicking. "You don't trust him enough to tell him about how you feel."

With an effort, Marco fixed a smile onto his face. But the edges of his mouth were too sharp for it to be anything real.

"Let's just talk about something else," he said mildly. 

"Marco-" Jerome said, with a note of insistence in his voice, sensing the classic Marco technique of diverting incoming-

"Jeri, please, this isn't the time!" Marco said, frustration finally showing in his voice.

"Marco, what do you think running away from it is going to achieve-?"

"What is _talking to him_ going to do? What is it with you people and your obsession with fucking  _talking_ about things?" Marco snapped. "Talking to him last time didn't stop him leaving, talking to fucking _Mats_ and having him  _reassure_ me didn't stop him from leaving. I'm fine like this, Jeri, okay? I'm fucking fine depending on myself."

The bus had parked outside the stadium. There were waving fans outside, holding banners and dancing about. All eager for the match ahead. Marco didn't want to step inside the stadium.

Jerome looked at Marco with apprehension in his eyes. "Sitting down and talking about things might not be the solution to everything, but if we don't do it we won't understand each other at all-"

"There's nothing to understand, okay?" Marco said, standing up and picking up his sports bag, swinging it around his shoulder so aggressively it hit Joshua, who was sitting behind him, in the face. "I'm fine. I'm  _fine._ "

He walked down the aisle before Jerome could say anything else. Jerome let his head fall against his seat, cursing under his breath.

"Oh, Marco," he said softly. "You fool."

***

Per Mertestacker had arrived in the Stade de France. It was relatively early- the match wouldn't be starting for an hour or so- but there was already an air of rigid anticipation outside the stadium walls. Of course, this was a pretty big clash, even if the prestige of the Nations League was dubious. Per had been an international player for a long time, and so he knew how fulfilling winning was when with your national team, especially when a big competition was approaching the next year...

He had been laid off for this international break, on account of a muscle injury he had picked up a few games before national duty started. Rehabilitation was never an enjoyable process, and it had not been made any more pleasurable by the presence of his club teammates who had been left behind by their respective national teams too. Shkrodan Mustafi and Nacho Monreal were two people he had  _not_ been interested in babysitting whilst he worked on his fitness inside the club's rehab centre, so he had taken the opportunity to come and watch Germany play the second it had come up.

Was he avoiding rehab by taking this leisure time? Absolutely not. He was a professional, he understood that his fitness was more important than watching his national team for the shits and giggles- he was only here to analyse the team's gameplay, to figure out where he would be able to fit in when he returned, to understand tactics...

"Per!" a loud, very French voice called in utmost shock. "C'est Per!"

Alexandre Lacazette was standing in the doorway of the French changing rooms, with his shirt wrapped around his neck, looking completely astonished. All around the place were various staff from France's national team- a team of physiotherapists, the kit manager, caterers who had supplied Lucozade bottles and packets of fruit by the ton. A radio was playing in the room and several loud, out-of-key voices had joined together in a wrenching rendition of _Always Remember us This Way_. And Per had thought the Germans were bad singers.

Having pulled a few strings, being an international footballer himself and having a pass that basically let him go anywhere, Per had been able to wander anywhere within the stadium without much hassle. He hadn't really been intending to end up in France's changing rooms, he had actually been searching for his fellow countrymen. He had a terrible sense of direction, he was always getting scolded for it. But he was here now, so he could at least say hello to a few of his Arsenal teammates.

"Hello, Alexandre," Per said lightly, as his club compatriot looked exaggeratedly astonished by his presence. "You look like you're ready to cause some damage on the pitch."

Alexandre looked down at his half-dressed form and shrugged. "I could walk onto the pitch naked and still score past you, mon ami.  Anyway, Per! Que fais-tu ici? You never said you were coming to watch our match!"

"I did. On the group chat. You just never pay any attention to anything."

"I had no idea, really, you should have told us. This is such a nice surprise," Alexandre said, demonstrating Per's point. "Let me get Olivier to say hi too. OLI! HEY, OLI! Où es-tu? GIZOU!" 

"Qu'est-ce que c'est, Laca?" a voice called out in response. "Pourquoi cries-tu?"

"Per is here!"

"Per?"

Another man joined Alexandre in the doorway. A shirtless man of 1.93 metres, with a magnificent beard, luscious brown hair and piercingly blue eyes. Per gave his little head a shake to clear it of these weird thoughts. He had clearly been hearing too much nonsense from the squad, why were his _inner thoughts_ salivating over Olivier now?

"Ah, Per!" Olivier said brightly, when he saw the giant German. "It's you! Good to see you, mon ami! Comment ça va?"

"I'm okay, thanks," Per said mildly, patting Olivier's head. "I didn't really come here to see you two, I was looking for  _my_ team. Have any of them dropped by yet?"

"Non, non," Olivier said. "We have been here since the afternoon, we don't even know if the Germans are here yet. But we will see them when we go to do the warm-ups. I want to say hello to Mesut and Bernd..."

"Don't expect _them_ to be too friendly to you," Per said dryly. "The rest of the team, well..."

"Ah, I know, I know, the Germans will regard me with an eye of contempt, it's their way," Olivier said lightly. "They are fierce competitors."

"That's not what I meant," Per told him, thinking that the only eye of contempt Olivier would be receiving today would be from one Sami Khedira. Maybe from Fips, too. Fips wasn't the type to let an opponent's looks distract him from the game ahead, he was a tenacious presence on the pitch too. And Manu, of course, if he had been playing.

"Speaking of fierce competitors," Olivier joked. "Want to say hello to our dear captain?"

"Your dear- oh," Per said, with an expression of distaste as he realised who Olivier was talking about. "Do I have to?"

"It's good form to show respect to your opponents before a game.  _Hugo!_ " Olivier sang, thrusting his arm into the training room and somehow pulling a confused looking Hugo Lloris from thin air. "Look who it is."

Lloris gave Olivier a puzzled look, but nodded politely at the German centreback. He and Per were not friends, quite the opposite. They had never really exchanged words before, as Lloris was a man of few of them- probably because he was too thick to string two together, or because he was a depressed Tottenham player who didn't like to talk. And Per could understand that, if he played for Tottenham he would be too ashamed to talk to others too.

The only positive feeling Per felt when interacting with Hugo Lloris was amusement at the idea of comparing him to Fips. Both of them were captains of teams full of rowdy fools, but while Lloris was a quiet guy, Fips was explosive and just as high-strung as his teammates when trying to calm them down. Two wildly different captains- and Fips made a lot less mistakes than Lloris did, too.

"Good luck for today," Per said awkwardly, because unlike Marco Reus and Benedikt Höwedes, he could not be openly rude, even if he was talking to the captain of two of his rival teams. He was too old to be so petty- out loud, at least. In his head he could be as spiteful as he liked.  _I hope you make another high-profile error today, you Tottenham fuck._

"Thank you, and for your team too," Lloris said quietly. Then he looked towards Olivier, as if for permission to leave. Olivier was trying to restrain his laughter, and then he started cackling as the captain hurried out of sight, with Alexandre jumping on his shoulders.

"What the hell was that about?" Per hissed at Olivier. "Why'd you make me talk to him like that, now I look like a twat-"

"I thought it would be funny, I know how you intense you Germans are with your rivalries," Olivier said nonchalantly. "You and Mesut and Bernd, you are all the same. Hugo is a nice person. Learn to put aside your grudges!"

"Don't act like you're trying to teach me something about morality, you just wanted me to look awkward!"

"Faux!" Olivier said, but his quirking lips gave him away.

"Well, you be like that, Oli," Per said irritably. "If you want to make me feel awkward, then I can return the favour."

 _I_ won't  _warn him about Kai. Then he can see how funny it is._

"What are you talking about?" Olivier laughed. "I never feel awkward. It's part of my charm, I always look effortlessly cool and composed."

 _Ha, just you wait and see how composed you are when you have to face that kid on,_ Per thought dryly. He had only known the boy over the group chat for about a day and he already knew how intense his passion for Olivier was. Making a rude gesture, Per was about to announce to Olivier that he was going to leave and go and find his place in the terraces and wait for the warm-ups when Olivier said something surprising.

"Is it about Sami Khedira?"

Per looked at him, mildly surprised. "Sami Khedira?"

Olivier was smiling, but there was also a contemplative look in his eyes. "Will your plot to make me feel awkward involve Sami Khedira?" 

"Where do you get that idea from, Oli?" Per asked, carefully tightening his own lips.

"Oh, it's just a silly observation," Olivier said casually. "But I feel as though he has little love for me. We haven't really talked, but... I have intuition. I sense things from people."

"You sense things from people." Per was a composed international centreback and not a giggling child he was  _not_ going to giggle-

"Ouais. And I sense... Well, I sense disapproval from him. Maybe I don't know what I am talking about, maybe I am mistaking traditional German... coldness, for a personal grudge, but... it is what I have noticed. I think he dislikes me."

"You think so?" Per said in a contained voice. "I don't know, I can't imagine  _why_ he would have any reason to dislike you. I'm sure it's not what you think."

"Hm, well," Olivier said. "We will see, eh? We will see."

"ALLONS-Y, ALLONS-Y, TOUS ENSEMBLE!" Didier Deschamps' dulcet tones came from inside the changing rooms. "OLI, GRIZOU, PAUL, FRANCK, DÉPÊCHEZ-VOUS! VITE, VITE!"

"I guess you've been summoned," Per said, checking his watch. "Shit, it's nearly time for the warm-ups. I'll get my ass into the stadium."

Olivier nodded and gave Per a hug. "Until later, mon ami. You know your way around?"

"I can figure out where to go," Per said mildly. "Have fun."

Olivier winked at Per and headed into the changing room again. Per turned around on the spot, allowing himself a sustained giggle about Olivier's  _intuition,_ before realising he was now going to have to navigate his way through the stadium and find his way onto the pitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i've been dealing with the jogi löl problem, in that i literally can't stand him or stick up for him anymore, which makes it super hard to write him in this fic (see: the recent absences of even his ugly name). so i came up with a great solution: that motherfuck is just gonna dip, and is going to be replaced by....
> 
> well, you guys can guess (it's not gonna be tuchel actually like i was thinking). think of the club i support, the fact that 2013 was literally the best year of my life...
> 
> J U P P, it's about fucking time you arrive in the fic. moving like thor with stormbreaker in infinity war, incinerating the bullshit.
> 
> i'm sorry this took so long guys, shits been crazyyy
> 
> i actually quite like hugo lloris but per is an arsenal player so he cant have positive thoughts about the guy
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed, look forward to the next one!


	71. Chapter 71

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 26!  
> MATCHDAY!  
> GERMANY VS FRANCE PART 2 OK ACTUALLY THE MATCH THIS TIME  
> recap of lineups-  
> germany-  
> marc-andre  
> jonas  
> jerome  
> mats  
> fips  
> leon  
> basti  
> thomas  
> toni  
> mesut  
> miro
> 
> france (literally pulled out of my ass to include bayern players dont pay it any attention)  
> lloris  
> pavard  
> varane  
> koscielny  
> hernandez  
> kingsley  
> coco  
> kante  
> matuidi  
> griezmann  
> giroud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huge apologies for how late this chapter is! writer's block, shitty life events and overall middling dipping into kind of bad mental health has made it difficult for me to write recently. this is also an absolute beast of a chapter that ive overthought every word of because ive made it seem like this is going to be amazing but in all honesty it's probably going to end up... not being amazing
> 
> holy shit i have BARELY proofread this it is unbelievable. it is so fucking long and non-structured es ist UNGLAUBLICH. this is going to end up being like game of thrones final season rushed and overhyped but i am so relieved it is off of my shoulders now, i feel like a dove who has been released. now i only have the rest of the fucking fic and the aftermath of this shit to write.
> 
> lineups were written up last chapter! i don't really know what to say other than, enjoy i guess! 
> 
> pirlo's excellent quote which i stole here:
> 
> "I’ll never fully shake that sense of absolute impotence when destiny is at work. The feeling will cling to my feet forever, trying to pull me down... There are always lessons to be found in the darkest moments. It’s a moral obligation to dig deep and find that little glimmer of hope or pearl of wisdom. You might hit upon an elegant phrase that stays with you and makes the journey that little bit less bitter. I’ve tried with Istanbul and haven’t managed to get beyond these words: for fuck’s sake."
> 
> what a goddamn mood. he's an italian cunt but like... this is Wisdom right here.

_Private chat between Robert Lewandowski and Jerome Boateng_

**Robert:** Here we go then

 **Robert:** Feels like our last chance

 **Robert:** Do or die time

 **Robert:** For Jerzy anyway

 **Robert:** I'm breathing Jeri I'm fucking breathing

 **Robert:** I'm not ready but I'm just gonna do it anyway

 **Robert:** I love you so much good luck today

 **Robert:** I hope you score and keep a clean sheet and I hope everything goes a-okay

 **Robert:** I know you can't text me now so I'm sending you this for after the match

**Robert:**

**Robert:**

**Robert:** Dumbass beautiful bitch

 **Robert:** I miss you so much no matter what the result is for this match at least I know I'll be seeing you again when this is all over

 **Robert:** WIN TODAY BITCH BECAUSE  I SURE WON'T !!!!!

**Robert:**

**Robert:** Make THAT man ^^ angry

 **Robert:** Ok bye I love you 3000 <333333

***

"I can't, I can't, I can't, I can't!"

Kai Havertz didn't need to warm up. He wasn't like the rest of these old men, his naturally youthful and energetic body meant that he didn't need to do trivial things like passing drills or stretches, he could walk out onto the pitch at any time and put on a World Cup winning performance-

"You're _coming,_ " Julian Brandt said, without the slightest hint of sympathy in his voice. "I don't care if Giroud is out there buck naked, you're going to go out there and look him in the eye and say hello to him and you're going to be _cool_ about it."

"And do you want me to proposition him too, just for good measure?" 

"You'll be fine, kid, really," Mesut said kindly as Julian gave up on Kai, turning to Bernd to implore him to knock some sense into Kai. Bernd, in typical Bernd fashion, merely shrugged. "Look, I'll come with you so you don't feel awkward about it. Olivier is a really nice person."

Kai gripped Mesut's shoulders, forcing the Arsenal midfielder to look him directly in the eyes. "Mesut. Or should I say God. I just. Can't. Go. Out. There. _He's_ there. I want to make a good impression but I know that as soon as I open my mouth the only thing that will come out is some irrelevant ass shit and Olivier Giroud doesn't _deserve_ to hear my irrelevant ass shit-"

Mesut tried to reassure Kai that he only spoke irrelevant ass shit  _sometimes,_ but Kai had been sidetracked once again and was now lamenting at length about the time he had met Bernd Schuster, and had spouted said irrelevent ass shit to der Blonde Engel. Maybe it  _was_ hopeless for the boy.

"Right!" Leon Goretzka, who had, as per usual, been texting instead of listening to this conversation, suddenly stowed his phone away in his bag and cracked his knuckles. "Come on, Havertz."

He marched purposefully towards Kai, who looked at him in alarm.

"Hey- Goretzka- what are you gonna- _hey!_ "

Leon had picked Kai up by the back of his jacket and was pulling him bodily towards the doorway. Kai yelped in shock and struggled to break free.

" _Hey!_ Wait, Goretzka, no, wait, stop go back! Ohmygod I haven't even checked my hair Goretzka I'm gonna die Goretzka let go of me right now you goofy ass clown I literally can't-"

"Shut up, kid," Leon said airily, carrying Kai outside. Julian, Bernd and Mesut looked at each other, and then they shrugged, following suit,

There was applause from the fans milling around in the terraces when the Germany players appeared on the pitch for their pre-match warm-ups, but there was an explosion of patriotic cheering when the French players arrived. Kai wriggled free of Leon and made to run back into the changing rooms, but was suddenly met with the solid-iron chest of Manu, who was going to sit in the technical area. Manu looked down at him and arched his eyebrow.

Kai immediately turned around again. And then his eyes fell upon-

"Oli!" Mesut said cheerfully, waving at his French club teammate, who was peering into the crowd of white training jerseys, evidently seeking out his German counterparts. "Hey, Oli! Come over here!"

At that moment, nearly every member of the German National Team did the same thing at once- they all turned their heads towards Mesut, and then cast their gazes towards Sami Khedira, who was talking to Jerome. Sami put up a very good show of not noticing. His expression was relaxed, and as he had steered the conversation to be about Robert, Jerome actually wasn't joining in with the silent teasing and was instead speaking happily about his boyfriend as he passed the ball back and forth with the Juventus midfielder.

Normally such blatant behaviour would have been put down quickly by Fips, but the right-back was currently absent from the proceedings, instead lingering around the technical area near the terraces. So everyone gleefully feasted on the scene before them- Olivier Giroud himself, striding towards Mesut with a wide, easy smile on his face.

"Mesut, my friend! And you too, Bernd!" he said brightly. He opened his arms for a hug and Mesut gladly reciprocated. Julian Draxler was knocked out of commission at once when Bernd received a far less enthusiastic hug. "Nice to see you both!"

"Yeah, yeah, as always," Mesut said cheekily. "Sorry I didn't get to call you this morning, things came up, you know?"

"No worries at all," Olivier said, relaxed about everything, as per usual. He ducked as Lukas walked past, aiming a friendly blow at his head. "I understand that things have been busy, it has been wild on our end too, being the home team receiving your charming squad..."

"You should be grateful we stepped into this fucking shithole," Mesut said airily. "Anyway, Oli, as much as I'd love to hear your appreciation about the prestige we bring to any stadium, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

"Oh?" Although Olivier had noticed Kai, who had been brick-red and stock-still throughout the whole conversation, he was too polite to speak to him without being introduced properly first. "Please introduce me. Although I do know who you are, you are quite the youth phenomenon, aren't you, Monsieur Havertz?"

Leon Goretzka, who had naturally been shamelessly eavesdropping, had to hold onto Julian, who was about to rush to Kai's aid, as the nineteen year old was clearly out cold-

"Of course, you had better watch out for Kylian," Olivier said good-naturedly. "He has a superiority complex, he believes he _must_ be the best teenaged footballer in the world, so he might try and knock you down today."

Kai was still speechless.  Bernd had to give him a kick in the leg before he spoke.

"Uh- uh- uhm," Kai stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "I- well- that is to say- Kylian- I mean- Herr Mbappe? He's much more talented than me he's like a teen god- and- well- I- I wouldn't say I'm a _phenomenon-_ I just- I like playing I guess b-but I'm nothing compared to you really because you're a great striker really a classic underrated forward and your scorpion kick really I've never seen anything like it so like I'm nothing really Herr Giroud-!"

This sudden transition from barely saying a word to talking at top speed caught Olivier by surprise, and he looked bemused, but also rather flattered.

"You do not have to call me 'Herr Giroud', really," Olivier said kindly. He recognised that Kai was probably very nervous, so he made sure to be gentle with him. "And thank you for the kind words! I wish Mesut would take notes, my own teammates don't give me praise like that. Talk about me like that to him, maybe it will rub off on him!"

"Oh, you have no idea how much I've heard from him about you already," Mesut said, rolling his eyes. "He knows more about your career than you do."

Kai, somehow, went even redder than he already was.  _How_ was he getting done dirty by his idol in front of his lifelong crush? 

"Well, if I ever need somebody to write the biography of my _extensive_ and _successful_ career, I know who to come to," Olivier said charmingly. Kai made a noise halfway between a nervous squeak of agreement and a a hysterical laugh. 

It was clear he could not continue the conversation any longer, so Bernd decided to put him out of his misery and dragged him away from Olivier, who gave Kai a friendly wave goodbye. Kai didn't resist as Bernd put him in a headlock, not even complaining about his look when Bernd ruffled his hair.

"There you go, kid, loosen up a little," Bernd said, when he finally let Kai loose from his hold. "You see? That wasn't that bad, was it?"

Kai was deathly silent.

Leon and Julian had joined them, Leon ominously holding that goddamn phone upright and pointed towards Kai- where had he even gotten it from, Kai could have sworn he had put it away- and Julian looking deeply concerned for his friend's health.

"Well? Kai?" Julian said worriedly, actually pressing a hand against Kai's forehead, the boy was so red and embarrassed. "How are you feeling?"

"He's fine," Bernd said dismissively. "He's a man, and Olivier was really easy on him, he's not some sort of puss-"

Kai cut Bernd off mid-sentence by falling to his knees and clutching his heart. Leon turned his phone downwards, he was definitely filming, wasn't he...

"And here we have the _live reaction_ from a pussy bitchboy meeting the love of his life for the first time," he said, in the tone of a news reporter. "Kai, it's an emotional day for you, so I understand you must be feeling overwhelmed, but our viewers want to know- what exactly went through your mind when Olivier Giroud had the kindness to give you even a moment of his attention?"

"I..." Kai shook his head mutely. "That was... There are no words I can say... There are no words anyone can say... To describe what that experience meant to me... He... God himself... Spoke to me... And called _me..._ a phenomenon..."

"Oh, my God, keep him away from Khedira," Bernd said wryly. 

"No, we've got to  _take_ him to Sami, quickly-" Leon said abruptly. And then he jumped as Manu, who had been sitting on the bench, watching the team's warm-ups in progress, shouted out:

"Goretzka! Brandt! Havertz! Why are you standing around chatting? GET TO WORK!"

"Or we should get to work quickly ahahaha-" Leon stowed his phone away after sending his footage to Serge and ran off to take part in the stretching drills.

"And he calls me a pussy bitchboy," Kai said malevolently. Before falling against Julian again and groaning, "Olivier  _Giroud!_ "

Bernd rolled his eyes and strolled off to go and sit on the bench, having no need to warm up whatsoever. Julian pushed Kai off of him and dragged him off to start doing warm-ups with Jonas. 

"Well, he is an excitable child, isn't he?" Olivier said, slightly bewildered, to Mesut, who was grinning. "He is sweet though. I never thought I would be such an idol to somebody..."

"Well that's a lie," Mesut retorted. "Because you told me that you were your own role model once. You told me that whenever you feel sad, you just think about your past achievements to remind yourself of how great you are."

Olivier raised his hands. "Is self-love an abhorrent concept, these days?"

"No. But being idiotically self-assured is. Speaking of being idiotically self-assured- there's Müller incoming, what does he want?" 

Olivier looked to where Mesut was looking and was surprised to see that Thomas Müller was indeed walking towards them.

"Olivier Giroud?" he asked, getting straight to the point, when he reached them. 

"C'est moi. And you are Thomas Müller, of course," Olivier said pleasantly. 

Thomas extended his hand, and when Olivier took it, he started shaking it wildly. Olivier didn't notice the crowd of  German players, including Corentin Tolisso, Kingsley Coman and Franck Ribery, all watching and silently howling with laughter. He  _did_ notice a cold look being shot in his direction, though, from, as expected, Sami Khedira...

"It is an absolute pleasure to speak with you categorically speaking I have never had such an honour such a distinctive privilege the prestigious chance to talk to someone like you really sometimes I wish you were on  _our_ national team so I could have the delight of calling you my teammate like your teammates do really we could do a swap deal or something I mean Sami Khedira doesn't really do much I'm sure he wouldn't mind he understands the complete and utter _cachet_ of being in the presence of someone like you-"

Thomas didn't even pause to take a breath. As there was no Fips to stop him it didn't look like he was going to do so any time soon.

" _Well_ ," Olivier said, slightly punch-drunk, when Thomas finished rattling off his spiel. "I do believe we have talked to each other many times before, but... Thank you! This is a surprising day. Two Germans expressing... respect, to  _me,_ just before a match?"

He wasn't entirely sure if it _was_ respect- in fact, he had the slight hunch this little speech had more to do with Sami Khedira than him.

"I would  _always_ show you respect really there is nothing else you deserve more than the utmost unwavering respect-" Thomas said earnestly.

"Alright, Müller, do I need to get Fips on you or what?" Mesut said, cutting Thomas off mid-speech, actually bodily kicking him in the ass.  "Leave poor Oli alone, he doesn't want to have to speak with you and listen to your bullshit. Away with you, go back to your little Bayern friends!"

"Or warm up!" Manu yelled from the sidelines. 

"Even Fips isn't warming up!" Thomas yelled back, though he was secretly very pleased to hear Manu shouting. "We don't need to warm up, we'll win against these amateurs anyway! I have the  _utmost_ respect for you, Olivier, by the way-"

It was true, Fips, who was usually the first person to make a scene if the players weren't doing their jobs, was having a leisurely chat on the sidelines with Miro, Mario Gomez, Basti, Lukas and Per Mertestacker instead of engaging with the warm-ups. It seemed like  _all_ the Bayern players were slacking off. 

The Arsenal defender had been offended that the reception from his national teammates upon his arrival had been less enthusiastic than their reactions to Olivier Giroud. Only these five had come to greet him personally, while the rest of them gave him a half-dismissive wave whilst giggling over Mesami or something. Per would have expected them to give him at least a  _slight_ bit of attention, maybe the standard German clapping hands routine or even a hug, but instead they acted though he was a Kreisliga defendeer hovering on the periphery of a Champions League meet-up.  Drama whores.

At least he had the regulars here to greet him. Mario Gomez was as full of nervous energy as ever, shaking Per's hand enthusiastically and jumping on the balls of his feet, tripping over his own words. Miro was his usual gentle self, giving Per a solid hug and asking him about his injury recovery. Basti and Lukas practically knocked the giant over, Lukas jumping on Per's back and Basti hugging Per's waist. Fips had his hands on his hips and was giving Per a wry look, which the centre-back reciprocated.

"No hug for me, Fips?" Per asked, shoving Lukas off of him. "Aren't you happy to see me again?"

"I suppose I can tolerate seeing you," Fips said mildly. "I don't want to hug you, though. I know your brand of humour very well, a short joke is hanging off the tip of your tongue, you're a Neanderthal who's as predictable as a Stuttgart loss-"

Mario Gomez looked at his teammates for a silent explanation as to why he was constantly ripped apart when he wasn't even  _saying_ anything. He didn't get one. Everyone laughed.

"Ooh, stop, you're making me blush, you're such a romantic, Philipp," Per said, pretending to be shy at Fips' words. "You know you want a hug, little guy, come here, don't be embarrassed by the height difference-"

"Mertestacker-!" Fips said, his eyes flashing, but he was cut off by the enormous man enveloping him in a hug. Fips' arms flailed at his sides and he was squawking indignantly, but eventually he went limp and sank into the hug.

Lukas shouted for Leon to take a picture of the enormous gap in heights. Fips attempted to wrest himself free again, but Per held onto him until Leon had taken fifteen photos and was sending them off to  _bayern won the bundesliga_ and  _thomas is bayern's past present and future._

"Don't worry, little guy," Per said patting Fips' head, as Fips started yelling at Leon. "I clear these people by about four foot anyway. Mesut is short too."

" _Shut up, I'm the captain of this team, not a walking short joke! And don't call me little guy, you big stupid gorilla!"_

"Look, Mutti!" a young, high-pitched voice yelled from the terraces. "It's Uncle Fips, he's yelling at everyone! Why is he so angry?"

Fips glanced into the stands, and Miro sighed. Luan and Noah Klose, always delighted by chaos, especially from their idols, were pointing at the captain and giggling. Sylwia looked very awkward, giving a wave hello. She had just reached the stadium and was  _exhausted._

"Oh- hello, boys," Fips called out in a strangled voice, trying to regain his dignity, although he was puce from shouting so much. "And- um- Sylwia. Good journey?"

"Oh, it was very... it was fine, thank you for asking," Sylwia said, trying to stop Noah from bowling over the stands to reach his father. "Good... warm-up?"

Per smirked as Fips turned a deeper shade of red. "Great warm-up thank you for asking in fact I'm going to do some passing now Bastian and Lukas come with me now I hope you enjoy the match!"

"Bye, Fips!" Per called, as Fips dragged Basti and Lukas with him to do some actual work. Fips gave him a filthy look and Basti and Lukas winked at him outrageously, always happy to make their captain's life difficult.

"Bye, we will..." Sylwia called, bemused. Her words were drowned out by Luan and Noah yelling incoherent goodbyes and shouting for their father.

"I'm here, boys, I'm here..." Miro said, trying to calm them down. Some other fans in the terrace were looking amused and taking photos. Miro ignored them and addressed his sons. "I'll talk to you afterwards... Enjoy yourselves, and behave..."

Mario noticed how he didn't address Sylwia, and Sylwia didn't look at him. He remembered the evening Sylwia had come to visit with the boys. His stomach tightened slightly, but he also smiled effortlessly and waved at the boys. He gave Sylwia a nod, which she reciprocated.

"Come, Mario," Miro said, holding onto Mario's elbow and steering him gently around, blowing a kiss behind his shoulder at his boys one last time. "Let's get to warming up."

"I don't really need to warm up, I'm not going to be playing..."

"You'll probably come on as a sub, I don't think I'm up for a full ninety minutes," Miro said quietly. "You should get your blood flowing anyway, get your energy back."

Mario looked at Miro, at how neutral his expression was. To any of the young ones who were used to Miro's stoicism, it definitely would've looked like he had gotten his brain into game mode and was wiping out any other source of distraction. But Mario could see through the darting sweeps of his eyes that his mind wasn't entirely in the right place. 

"Miro, is something going on between you and Sylwia?" He wasn't sure what had provoked him into asking it, he felt embarrassed the second the words left his lips. "Actually, no, I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me, I'm a nosy bastard-"

Miro laughed. He had looked at Mario in surprise, evidently not expecting a question like that at a time like this, but he didn't look uncomfortable by it. 

"Our friendship is nothing but a cycle of worry for each other, I must constantly look miserable," he said lightly. "I'll be honest about it, Mario, we did have an argument."

Mario's expression asked the question rather than his lips.

"After the match, I agreed to meet with Michael Ballack for a drink," Miro continued, his voice very casual. "She was understandably upset, because she's made the journey here with the boys and I'm not going to be spending much time with them. But it's nothing serious, I am going to be taking them for a long time when I get back to Italy. She's just tired, and I did tell her this at the last minute. I just never see Michael anymore, so I didn't think too much before agreeing to meet with him. But this is nothing that we can't get over, we're adults."

"I see..." 

Miro smiled at him, the picture of serenity, and Mario's tension dissipated somewhat. Miro was so comforting it was hard for him to listen to the tiny voice in his head that suggested to him that the man was missing something out of his story.

Sylwia had already told the boys their Vati wouldn't be spending much time with them after the match, and they had been remarkably understanding about it, mostly because they knew they were going to have a full month with the man playing with them when they stayed with him. Their attention was more on the players than the goofy old man they saw all the time anyway. But as the players were absorbed in their laborous, intensive work, full of rigorous focus, the boys had to look for other ways to entertain themselves, running Sylwia ragged.

They found one. Jessica had arrived, out of breath and with Leon clinging onto her hip.

"Hey, Sylwia!" she said, looking relieved to see the other harried mother. "You don't know how fuc-  _effing_ much- I hate public transport. Randos arguing with the driver and not wanting to pay their fares, holding everyone up... It's a miracle we actually got here in time... They warming up?"

"Yeah, or gossiping with each other and kicking a ball once in a while," Sylwia said dryly. "They don't look to be particularly in a _game_ spirit. Toni's doing pretty well, though."

"He is, is he?" Jessica said, putting her hands on her hips when she gently placed Leon on the ground. Toni was indeed jogging up and down, an intense look on his face. "That's a surprise. He normally looks like a lazy cu- _person_ , when he's on the pitch. Sorry little lion, it's the truth, your dad isn't the god you think he is..."

Leon had given his mother a baleful look, in defense of his father. Sylwia laughed lightly as Luan and Noah converged upon the little boy, informing him that the real god was Miroslav Klose.

"Hey- Hey, Toni!" Jessica yelled, through cupped hands, trying to summon her ex-husband so they could say hi to him. "Idiot! Gel-hair boy! That moron, he's not even looking this way..."

Toni wasn't hearing the calls. Someone else did, however- Jonas Hector looked backwards towards the terraces and made eye contact with Jessica. 

"Hey!" Jessica called to him. "Good luck for today!"

"Yeah, good luck, Jonas!" Leon yelled from beside her, jumping up and down in excitement. Luan and Noah peered at the left-back. They had never really noticed him, being more entranced by the loud and boisterous personalities on the team than the quiet and shy Jonas. 

Jonas' smile spread unusually slowly across his face, as though he was trying to hold it back. But his eyes were very soft as he waved at Leon. He gave Jessica a small, nervous twitch of the lips and a grateful wave. Then he turned around again and started running. 

"He's a sight for sore eyes, isn't he?" Jessica said. "Looks like he's dead on his feet. Surely that's meant to happen _after_ the match."

She was surveying him with a feeling of slight concern, which was strange, because she barely knew him. She had no business worrying about him. She thought about something Toni had told her, after the first time she had properly talked to Jonas:

_"You'll start feeling ridiculously protective of Jonas, even if you've only known him for two and a half minutes." His words had been matter-of-fact.  "Be as cynical as you like, he'll still find a way to worry you. He's just that kind of person."_

_"I can see that," Jessica had said with a smirk. "I mean, he's gotten_  you  _of all people to show empathy and tact towards someone. He must be a special case."_

A bright grin spread across Jessica's face, one that had Sylwia giving her a quizzical look. Jessica didn't know how to tell her she was happy that her apathetic ex-husband had found someone who could actually get him to open up more. It felt like she was being gossipy- and while she was happy to gossip with Jerome, or any of her friends that were her age, Sylwia was much older and more mature than she was, so she couldn't help but feel slightly self-conscious about getting all excited over his crush.

Despite this, she couldn't wait to tease Jerome about being such an ineffective best friend, as he had so often boasted about being more influential to Toni than she was- it turned out Toni's dick was the real catalyst to him becoming emotionally mature. 

"I think he looks great, Mama," Leon said defensively. Jessica burst out laughing at both his serious expression and Luan and Noah's fascinated expressions- apparently they really _had_ just noticed Jonas' existence.

"Yes, of course, my apologies, little lion," she sighed, also making a mental note to tease Jerome about Leon liking Jonas more than him already. "I can't insult your new idol. I'll go back to mocking your papa."

***

Sami had actually been proud of himself for the way he had handled the warm-ups.

It wasn't as though he hadn't felt any irritation when watching Mesut chat freely and excitedly and _openly_ with Olivier fucking Fancy BeardGiroud- he wasn't quite  _that_ mature, unfortunately. But, against all the odds, he had managed to last his way throughout the entire twenty minute process without folding up his teammates like paper planes. He had kept a serene smile on his face and had chatted with Jerome about Robert Lewandowski's second cousin's wedding last July. He hadn't let his eyes wander to Giroud in his overly tight jersey. He had ignored Müller's voice roasting him, even though it was like a foghorn. 

When they had all been called back to the changing rooms, he had breathed a sigh of relief. Jerome had spontaneously jumped on him in a hug and had started chanting motivationally in the Bavarian Thomas had taught him without knowing what it meant, his brain moving from the Polish canape selection to playing a high line on the field. Everyone else had started rubbing their hands, electricity sparking in their eyes.  _Thank God,_ Sami had thought.  _They've forgotten all about Giroud. Now I can get the game out of the way and I won't have to interact with him once._

Unfortunately, nothing ever worked as he wanted. It was almost as if the universe was testing him. Sometimes, in a game, one team could be totally dominating possession and peppering shots on target from all around the area, and it seemed as though they would be seconds from scoring- until the other team inexplicably got a shot from the halfway line and scored in the top corner. That was what Mesut had just done to him. He had completely negated all of Sami's hard work in a single second.

"Hey, Sam!"

Sami paused, just as he was about to enter the changing room. He turned his head slightly, and his eyes fell upon...

"Ah," he said, stiffly. "Mes. And. Herr Giroud."

 _Jesus Christ._ How on Earth, after the gargantuan effort Sami had put in to avoid him, had the Frenchman  _still_ managed to catch up with him? It was confirmed- no matter where he went, no matter who he talked to, Olivier Giroud would remain a constant in his life til the very end. He would never be able to escape the polite, flamboyant Frenchman. They would probably end up getting buried next to each other.

Sami was petty, and he knew it, but he was at least civil enough to make an  _effort_ at being somewhat neutral, rather than downright scathing. He jerked his head at the striker, who looked as relaxed as though he had just stepped out of a spa rather than tense with the energy of an upcoming match.

"Bonjour, bonjour," Olivier said mildly. "There's no need to call me Herr Giroud, Sami. We know each other."

"Oh," Sami said.  _Yeah, I know you. I know you too fucking well, what with Mesut telling me your cereal preference and how you double-knot your fucking shoelaces._

"I just thought I'd introduce you a bit more formally to Olivier," Mesut said easily, though there was definitely a slight wariness in his eyes as he looked at Sami. "I mean, you know each other, as,  _football_ players, but not really as people? Which seems weird, as, well, you're both pretty big parts of my life. So I thought. Uh. Seeing as we're facing off. And this is the only chance you'll really get to see him. I thought... I thought I'd..."

"Introduce us properly," Olivier filled in. "It's true, I have seen you around for years by Mesut's side, but we have not really exchanged words. So why not do that now? It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

 _It'd be more of a pleasure getting coronary heart disease,_ Sami thought, as Olivier held his hand out. Sami looked at the hand and thought that Olivier might as well just slap him, just to make the situation more irritating. 

He extended his hand too, however, and shook his. Olivier's grip was firm and steady, and his smile was warm. Sami merely watched him.

"Well... there!" Mesut said nervously. "You two... Know each other, now. I mean, you already knew each other, but... well, you know what I mean. Ha. Maybe it's stupid of me to feel weird that you've never talked, I mean that's normal, you don't need all your best friends to know each other, b-but..."

"It feels more comforting, having two people you feel secure with being friends with each other too, no?" Olivier suggested. Sami had to work very hard not to choke on his spittle. 

 _Don't start with this shit, Mes,_ he thought.  _Don't think you can try and fix all the problems cropping up between us like this. It's not going to happen._

To Sami's dismay, Mesut brightened at Olivier's wisdom. "Yeah, I guess that's right! But, I don't know, this wasn't really meant to be some sort of psychological revelation about me, I just wanted you to... acknowledge each other."

 _Fucking brilliant word to use there, Mesut,_ Mesut thought, wincing. Sami's expression was cool.

"Well, we've acknowledged each other now," he said flatly. 

"Indeed we have," Olivier said simply. He looked somewhat amused, but also calculating. Sami looked away from him.

The silence was one of the worst ones Sami had ever experienced. He had gone through many awkward silences in his time- most of them had involved Jerome and his inexplicable shyness when conversing with strangers, when he couldn't think of what to say. He had never found them to be that bad, mostly because he was never an active part of the awkwardness, and he always felt schadenfreude about Jerome's distress. But in this case he was  _creating_ the awkwardness with his aloofness, so he had to brave the force of his self-made prison of self-consciousness-

"I think I'm gonna go and get changed, now," Sami muttered, after he counted to twenty in his head.

"Oh, cool..." Mesut mumbled.

Sami didn't say goodbye to Olivier or even look at him before he turned around and stalked into the changing room. Mesut looked crestfallen.  As Sami entered the changing room, he heard Olivier chuckling and saying behind him, "I told you he dislikes me."

_How astute._

Olivier's observation didn't make Sami feel any sort of satisfaction, instead, it infuriated him. He stomped into the changing room, ignoring all the wolf-whistles he received from other players. His kit was hanging next to Jonas'. The left-back gave him a slightly frightened look as Sami started cursing with great volume and expression.

"Sami..." Jonas said anxiously. "Is everything- is everything alright-"

He gave a cry of shock and jumped backwards as Sami rounded on him so quickly and aggressively he thought he was going to get punched. 

"Everything's  _great!_ " Sami yelled at him. Then he noticed that Jonas had protectively flung his arms up in front of his face and tried to establish some sort of measure of control over his emotions. "Jesus, man, put your arms down, I'm not going to hit you. I'm not angry. I'm not bothered by anything. I'm completely calm. I'm fine. Okay?"

He practically spat the last word. Jonas lowered his arms, still looking wary.

"I just  _wonder,_ sometimes," Sami chuntered. "I just casually wonder. I  _wonder_ about Mesut. I wonder what goes on in that head of his. Do you know what goes on in there?"

Jonas had no idea if he was meant to respond or not- he thought it would probably be best to engage his most distinctive personality trait and stay silent, but Sami was so unpredictable that he didn't know if the midfielder would get angry at his lack of response or not. He tried a tentative response...

"Not really...?" 

"IT WAS A RHETORICAL QUESTION!" Sami hollered. Jonas threw up his arms again and squeaked out an apology. "I don't think even  _he_ knows what goes on in there! Couldn't read a sign even if it was thrust in his goddamn face. Ugh, I can't take it, I can't  _take it..._ "

He paced up and down, painting quite a sight as he pulled on various parts of the kit. He wasn't even noticing the group of players who had started up a love ballad about him and Olivier, with Julian Draxler contributing some of the French he had learnt from his time in PSG:

 _"Stoïcisme du milieu de terrain  
Beauté de l'attaquant-_ "

" _Beauté?_ "

Jonas looked almost pleadingly at the others, wanting them to rescue him from the overwhelming prospect of being alone with a ranting, irrational Sami. Ironically, the team were too absorbed in making fun of him for his hatred about Olivier that they were denying themselves the opportunity of  _hearing_ about an interaction the man had had with his arch-enemy. Toni was having a chat with one of the team staff about something or another so he wasn't here to save Jonas either.

All of a sudden, a sharp pain bloomed across his cheekbone. Sami had accidentally elbowed Jonas in the face as Mesut had entered the changing room.

"Holy shit, sorry, man," Sami said distractedly, patting Jonas' face vaguely. "My bad, I didn't see you there."

"It's okay..."

Sami kept patting Jonas' face absent-mindedly, his eyes following Mesut as the midfielder went over to where his kit was hanging, next to Leon's. Again, Jonas didn't quite know what to do, so he just stayed silent and waited for Sami to release him...

"SAMI!" a bull-like roar came from behind the two of them. Sami paused with his hands on Jonas' cheek and momentarily looked very bemused as to why he was caressing the left-back, before being consumed in an enormous bear hug from behind.

A hand rested on Jonas' shoulder. Jonas turned his head and saw that Toni was giving him a soft smile, having returned from his talk with the staff member. Jerome, on the other hand, was just interested to find out why Sami was looking to be in such a bad mood.

"You looked trapped, there," Toni said gently to Jonas, as Jerome affectionately wrestled Sami. "Sami being an aggravating, whining little bitch again?"

"No... of course not... he was just-"

"I fucking heard that, Kroos," Sami said malevolently, managing to prod Jerome off of him, only to get attacked again. "I'm not being a whining little bitch. I'm fine. Nothing's wrong with me, okay? Stop being such nosy attention whores and fucking get fucking ready."

"Gracious, you seem to have a preoccupation with fucking, today, don't you?" Toni said wryly. Jerome let go of Sami at once.

"Yeah, I do, Toni, I do indeed. I have a massive fucking desire to fuck someone. You know who I want to fuck? I want to fuck _Olivier Giroud_. Is that what you want to hear? Do you want me to say I want to suck his dick slowly? Do you want me to say I want him to-"

He went into aggressive sexual detail about exactly what Toni wanted him to hypothetically do to Olivier Giroud, completely ignoring the wailing Jerome, as well as Jonas, who went a bright scarlet and hurried off to get changed. Toni listened completely stoically, his eyes cool as he regarded Sami.

"Well, I'm glad to hear you've put a lot of thought into this," he said, when Sami had finished.

"I've been planning it for ages, that's my big secret!" Sami yelled at him. "Fuck this, man, I need to go and talk to Strochser."

He stormed off, leaving Jonas half-heartedly trying to ask him if he was going to be okay and Toni smirking.

Mario Götze ambled over towards them, looking at Jerome, who was hiding his face in his hands. "Sex joke?"

"Explicitly detailed hypothetical sexual description," Toni clarified.

"Passive aggressive Khedira?"

"What else could it be?" Toni snorted, as Jerome flopped down onto one of the benches dramatically, still covering his face.

"I see," Mario sighed, giving Jerome a comforting hug. "You'll be alright, Jeri. Just imagine Robbi doing all those explicitly detailed sexual things... to you."

"God, Mario, stop it, stop it, stop it!" Jerome moaned, burying his head in Mario's chest. "Why are you all so  _disgusting..._ "

"I couldn't tell you, my friend," Mario murmured, patting Jerome's head soothingly. Jerome expected the man to release him after a few moments, but Mario held onto him.  Jerome glanced up at the midfielder's face. Mario was not looking at him, but was staring outwards, with a vacant, sad look in his eyes.

Jerome twisted his head around slightly against Mario's chest, and looked across the changing room. Marco was getting changed slowly and mechanically, his back turned to everyone else. Jerome thought about the conversation they had had on the bus, the conversation that Mario didn't know about and most likely wasn't going to find out about. He let his arms wrap around Mario's centre.

"He'll be okay," he murmured. He felt Mario's muscles tense. "He's just going through a rough patch at the moment, what with his health and his lack of playing time this international break. He doesn't want you to worry about him."

Mario made a sad noise. "It's my job to worry about him. He still doesn't realise it. We're going around in circles with this thing."

Jerome winced. Luckily Mario didn't see it. 

"Gott, Jeri," Mario sighed. "I'm just hoping shit will get better when we get back home. I'm hoping he'll fucking relax a little. Marco's surrounded by people he feels like he has to prove himself to here, so he doesn't want to show any weakness. I get it, only the best get chosen for national duty- but it's so tiring sometimes. If I try and open up a conversation with him about anything serious he'll shut me down with a stupid joke. Every damn time."

"He'll be more comfortable and open at home, where he'll get proper treatment and care for his knee," Jerome said neutrally. He tried to restrain himself, this wasn't the time to talk about the small problem of Marco's trust issues... But he so desperately wanted to throw out a warning...

He didn't get the chance to. Mario patted Jerome's head again and let go of him, stepping backwards. He smiled sadly at the centre back.

"Yeah, things will get better back in Dortmund. I know they will." He sounded as though he was trying to convince himself. "Sometimes I wish we were like you and Robert. You two talk to each other with the passion of philosophers about mild neck pain or how you hate salt on eggs or whatever. Marco won't even talk to me about a twinge in his knee."

"I'm sure things will be fine. Marco loves you so much. He's just got a hell of a lot of pride. He'll get over it and start telling you things eventually."  _If he can confront the enormous weight of all the emotional baggage he has on his shoulders, baggage to do with you. HOLY SHIT, PEOPLE, HOW HARD IS IT TO JUST TALK TO SOMEBODY! Everyone in this damn team just loves to talk and talk, but not when it really matters!_

Fortunately he didn't have much time to dwell on his frustration. The team had been assembled- apparently, the match was about to begin. Fips was shepherding everyone together, yelling for focus as if the team was going to show any. Sami had reappeared, folding his arms and scowling, the starting eleven were jumping up and down on the spot. Jerome went to join the rest of the group, draping his arms around Toni and groaning.

Would it be too much to ask for a clean sheet, Robert scoring a hattrick versus Portugal and Marco and Mario getting over all of their deep-rooted issues today?

Better yet, Jerome thought, as Mesut came to stand beside him, his expression blank. Could Olivier Giroud do a Thomas and kick Mesut in the head, so the man could gain some fucking sense and get over his own deep-rooted issues with Sami?

Maybe he could take his shirt off or something in front of Sami.  _Anything,_ really. The situation was getting desperate at this point.

***

"Remember, Michael, today you need to be  _impartial._ "

Michael couldn't help but  wonder why Jan Weigand, ZDF presenter, was being so pointed with his words. Perhaps it was because at that very moment, Joachim Löw had appeared on the pitch below the pundit's box, and Michael had flicked up both of his middle fingers in the direction of the coach.

The former legendary midfielder felt the weight of Oliver's gaze on his back and felt the need to defend himself. "Of course I'm going to be impartial! Who do you think I am, I love the German National Football Team! I played for them for nearly all my career! I have multitudes of patriotic pride and the DfB is my favourite organisation in the world!"

Jan sighed. "Look, Michael, I understand that you have certain...  _emotions,_ towards your old team, but you've got to remember that as a presenter, having a biased view brings ratings down-"

"I'm not going to be biased!" Michael protested, feeling rather set upon (but knowing at the same time Jan was absolutely correct in his assertion that Michael was biased). "Just how salty do you think I am? I'm here to talk about football, not about the  _blatant disrespect and lack of acknowledgement_ the DfB tend to show on occasion-"

"Ballack." A single word from Oliver was enough to stop Michael in the middle of his sarcastic rambling. The goalkeeper was folding his arms and arching a terrifying eyebrow at Michael.

"Okay, okay," Michael mumbled, dissolving in his seat at once. He lowered his middle fingers and folded his hands in his lap. "I'll be good."

"Good," Jan sighed again. Why did people tend to sigh so much around Michael? Miro, Jan, Oliver, nearly all of his past teammates... "Well, they're in the tunnel, now, apparently. What do you think of the lineup that's been put out?"

"I think it's great," Michael said at once. Jan gave him a strange look at his willingness to praise something Löw had created. 

Oliver clarified things for him. "He only thinks it's great because Klose is in it. They were best friends."

"Oh, right, Klose. I can't believe the man's been around so long, I still remember him in a red and white kit," Jan said thoughtfully. "Do you think he's hanging on for one last international tournament? What even is his retirement plan? He's getting on in age."

Michael folded his arms. "People said that at the World Cup, but he got them through the group stage, and broke Ronaldo's record. He can still hang on."

"That's fair. It makes you wonder what's going to happen to Gomez," Jan said. Michael shifted uncomfortably in his seat, he and Mario had been pretty good friends.

"Mario Gomez is useless at the moment," Oliver said. "It's a real shame, he's a great player on his day, but I guess battling relegation and having crowds whistle you whenever you step on a pitch isn't great for your confidence. But he definitely isn't the same player he was, at least Klose still has some spark. How much is he even starting for Stuttgart?"

"Aw, don't be so harsh on him," Michael mumbled. "He's just going through a rough spot, I feel like he'll be back on it soon."

"The rest of them are doing pretty well, though," Oliver pointed out. "Lahm is basically the most reliable person on that squad. Schweinsteiger doesn't do much wrong. Boateng and Hummels are probably the best centerback duo in Europe. Müller doesn't really play in the same position for country as he does for club so I don't really know what to say about him. He's not bad, though. Goretzka is the new you."

Michael folded his arms and scowled. "Thanks, Oli. It truly puts a spring in my step when people tell me some bratty kid is going to overshadow me."

"I never said he'd overshadow you, you whining idiot. I implied he was going to live up to your reputation."

"Hmph. Everyone's overshadowed me already anyway," Michael muttered. "So it doesn't matter what way you put it."

Another sigh. "You're going to have fun watching this game, aren't you."

"Damn right!" Michael said, with false verve and a fake excited grin. "I only agreed to this so I could do some bitching, but now I've been told I have to be impartial, so my fun is ruined."

"You can still bitch. Look at English pundits, Graeme Souness or Roy Keane," Oliver suggested. "Their personalities revolve around them bitching about football. You just can't be overtly biased."

Jan opened his mouth to say that maybe bitching should be removed from the equation all together, but Michael spoke before he could.

"Okay, fine," the man said. "Watch me be overtly impartial whilst still bitching. What in the goddamn hell does Kimmich have on his face?"

The camera had shifted to the bench, where the backups and substitutes were sitting, as the teams lined up for the national anthem. Joshua Kimmich's face was shown in its full majesty, with that god-awful moustache taking up about thirty percent of it.

"You're damn right about that, actually," Oliver agreed. "It's horrible. What is the boy thinking?"

"I don't think that slights on the players' appearance will go down too well either," Jan gently suggested. 

"Oh, mein Gott, then what _can_ I say? Shall I just stay silent?" Michael said, throwing his arms up in exasperation.

Jan resisted the urge to sigh again, he might hyperventilate otherwise. "You could try some objective and fair evaluation." 

"Fine. I'll give you objective and fair," Michael said, rolling his eyes. He pointed at the screen, as the camera rolled across the players singing the German national anthem and settled on Bastian Schweinsteiger, who was singing with his chest. "Schweinsteiger is tone deaf. He can't sing for shit."

Jan wished the cameras were rolling, so he could look into them like he was in the Office. Unfortunately, he, Michael and Oliver were only doing half-time and post-match analysis, so he was alone in this conversation with morons.

"That is objective," Oliver admitted. "You would agree too if you had heard him sing the national anthem."

"I don't doubt your judgement, as it comes from... experience. I'm just saying, maybe your  _evaluation_ could revolve around  _football,_ given that that is what you're here to talk about."

Michael held his fingers a milimetre apart. "You see that, Jan? That's how fun you are."

"Reduce the gap a little, please, Michael. I don't want you to think you have any more freedom than you actually have."

"You're lucky I even bless this studio with my presence," Michael sighed dramatically, sinking low into his seat. "I'm not like Oli, who has nothing better to do with his time than be a pundit-  _es war ein Witz, Oli, es war ein Witz!_ "

Oliver had merely turned around slowly in his chair to face Michael, and that had been enough to make the man freak out. Jan wondered how terrifying it would be to play with Kahn as a young player, especially if you were a defender.

"Look!" Michael said brightly, in a bid to distract Oliver and make him forget what Michael had just said. "The French are doing their anthem! There's Ribery... And Lloris... And Giroud, he's a pretty handsome guy, isn't he?"

"I bet you're jealous your scrawny schoolkid looking ass can't grow a beard like his," the former keeper said darkly. Michael's hands jumped to the stubble on his cheeks. "Your beard makes you look like a depressed guy who just got laid off of his job."

"If you think about it, I  _am_ a depressed guy who got laid off of his job... It was just a long time ago," Michael said, rubbing his scratchy beard mournfully. "You didn't have to go in so hard on me, though."

"Old habits die hard."

"You're not even trying to kill them."

"If you want to talk about  _looking depressed,_ " Jan suggested, despite his aversion to insulting players. "Look no further than Özil. Just look at the guy. He always looks so miserable, as if nothing in the world could make him happy."

The camera brushed against Mesut's face, showing his moody expression as he walked onto the pitch.

"He does play for Arsenal, just like that Hohlkopf Lehmann did," Oliver muttered. "No wonder he's miserable."

"Don't start going on about Jens again," Michael groaned.

"I will go on about Jens. He makes me so angry. He was a substitute worth less than Leno is," Oliver said with a scowl. Then his eyes lit upon Leno's biggest rival, stretching his arms out in front of goal. "Oh, shit, I forgot that Ter Stegen was in goal. Do we know why Neuer is out? He's sitting in the dugout."

"He's been ill, apparently," Michael said. "Probably not fit enough to play a full game."

"That's a shame," Oliver said. "He was incredible in that first Nations League match against France."

Michael shrugged. "Ter Stegen'll barely get his shots in for now, he should treasure the playing time he gets. Neuer is just too good."

"True. I feel sorry for Leno. He's basically getting paid to bench-warm, here. His agent must be eating rocks, his image is nothing compared to ter Stegen's. At least Jens was a bit interesting and tried to fight for his spot."

"Just because Leno doesn't publically air his dirty laundry and openly abuse his rival in press conferences like you two did doesn't mean he isn't fighting for his place," Michael said wryly.

"Fair enough. It makes him boring to watch, though, and less people will be on his side than ter Stegen's if he doesn't seem to have any spring in his step. Footballers these days! They have no spirit in them, they just post the same dry captions under the same dry training photos and make silly T-Shirts, there's no entertainment anymore."

"You think they should go around biting their rivals and karate-chopping their teammates in the back of the neck?" Michael snorted.

"It worked for me."

Michael rolled his eyes again, there was no arguing with Oliver and his _good old days_ complex. Privately Michael thought the man was right, he himself had been ruthlessly stern as a captain and had been constantly irritated by the flighty, distracted behaviour of the youngsters. He could remember shouting himself hoarse at the young men lolling around in the pool after a defeat in the European Championships of 2008. That was when _he_ had had a lot of spirit. His opinion didn't mean anything now, though.

He leaned forwards to take a gulp of the water he had been given, as his throat had turned dry, but then he suddenly choked on it as the camera settled upon Miroslav Klose, who was standing perfectly still, waiting for the whistle to blow. 

Oliver slapped him on the back. Michael emerged from his water bright red in the face.

"Is everything okay, Michael?" Jan asked in alarm.

"What the hell is wrong with you, man?" Olivier said, frowning.

"Water- went- down- the wrong- tube," Michael spluttered, coughing violently. "I'm- okay."

Oliver muttered something to himself about how stupid Michael was. Michael was inclined to agree with him.

_If that was how he was going to react every time Miro appeared on the screen, he wasn't going to make it to the end of the match._

_God forbid he scores a goal today,_ he thought, as the whistle blew and the game began.

***

The dugout was a very rare place to be when you were Manuel Neuer. He wasn't used to the feeling of it.

Of course, he had had injuries in his time. But this was the first time where he felt  _physically_ okay, but wasn't standing in goal. 

It was his own fault, he reminded himself, as he watched the team spring into action on the pitch. He himself had ruled himself out of playing today, because the fear inside of him had grown so oppressive he was sure it would be an impossible task to be himself for the day. But that didn't stop him from feeling...

Insulted? Was that how he felt, when he heard the fans cheering ter Stegen, as though Manu was expendable, so easily replaceable? No, surely not. He wasn't as juvenile as that. He didn't feel angry at the fans, nor did he feel angry at ter Stegen- he felt furious at himself. He had let his own defences dissolve, he had given into the pressure that constantly tightened his temples, and he had lost his battle with his own mind. A keeper who couldn't stand tall and put their worries aside didn't deserve their spot between the sticks. He had failed. 

He watched Marc-Andre, who was by all means an experienced goalkeeper, but had the enthusiasm of a beginner as he took the place he so rarely got to inhabit on the pitch. The ball was being held by Basti in the midfield and it was nowhere near him, but Marc-Andre's expression remained powerful and concentrated all the same. There was no doubt that the team would be in good hands today.

Manu glanced to his left, where Bernd was sitting, his arms folded and a glower on his face. Kai and Julian Brandt were either side of him but neither of them were talking to him, because they didn't want the third keeper to jump down their throats. Yeah, today was going to be a rough day for Bernd's pride. Manu could not think of any words of advice to give his subordinate, not that he thought the man wanted it. Today was going to be a tough day for both of them- for Manu because he should have been strong enough to retain his spot, for Bernd because it was unlikely he would ever be able to get that spot.

It was pretty clear that it was not only the benched players who were distracted- all of the German players' thoughts were wandering today. Although they had retained possession for the most part, something about them felt unfocused, as though they were stringing passes together aimlessly rather than purposefully pushing forwards. Basti noticed this as he set up a pass that was not claimed by Mesut. 

Corentin Tolisso had grabbed the ball and had set off- somewhere far away, in a city called München, a Colombian midfielder had let out a huge roar of delight, as though the French central midfielder had scored a goal. Leon Goretzka, aware that now was a better time than ever to show a bit of friendly rivalry towards Tolisso, who was his rival for the CM spot, put in a burst of pace to try and retrieve the ball. His efforts went unrewarded and Tolisso passed to Matuidi.

It was easy to tell when a team was feeling confident. France were a compact unit and they were playing quickly, whereas Germany seemed almost hesitant for some reason. Already there was a break and Giroud was running into an empty space, but fortunately Jerome was there to quickly stop the danger and send the ball back out to Basti.

Jerome gestured at Mats to push back a little, as his partner centre-back was drifting too far ahead. Mats jogged backwards a little as Thomas took the ball and attempted to do something special with it.

It was very important to pay attention to what Thomas Müller did with his body when he was playing- and no, that wasn't a euphemism. The man's subtle hand-gestures, turns of the head and slightest shifts in direction with his feet indicated exactly where the other players needed to go. Miro and Thomas were particularly good at this sort of non-verbal communication, and Miro was able to claim a ball after Thomas misdirected Lucas Hernandez with a slight turn.

Sylwia had to maintain an iron grip on her sons as they burst into yells of absolute delight.

"Miro's got the ball," Michael Ballack said from the studio, suddenly rapt with attention. He had looked fairly bored throughout this opening segment of slow passing and tentative movements on the pitch, but now he looked as interested as though Miro had just nutmegged the keeper.

"And now he's lost it," Oliver Kahn said wryly. N'Golo Kante had made a standard tackle on the striker and sent the ball out again. "You jinxed it."

A swift sequence of passing followed Miro's loss of the ball, but Fips managed to steal the ball before it got into the area. The bench players, whilst initially relaxed, were now sitting upright and murmuring to themselves. They could sense a strange sense of anxiety amongst their teammates, which was thoroughly out of place, given their constant boasting and excessive self-confidence.

"They'd better be careful," Lukas muttered to Sami, leaning back in his seat with his arms folded. He was always the most vocal complainer on the bench, the one who was most passionate about the events on the field. "That's twice already France has put in some work to get the ball over to our side of the pitch. They look like they care."

Sami scowled. "Yeah, you're right. Oh, Jesus, what is he doing?"

Mats had stupidly given the ball away to Griezmann, and had to pursue the forward relentlessly to get it back. It was a neat bit of recovery, but there shouldn't have been such a tangible look of relief in the defender's eyes- he shouldn't have given it away like that in the first place.

"Hummels is on crack," Marco concluded scathingly. 

"He fucking got it back," Benni snapped. Marco glared at him. 

"Cut him some slack," Kai interjected- before dissolving into giggles at his little rhyming contribution. Bernd slapped a hand over the boy's mouth to show him what he thought of  _that._

There was a slightly better response from Germany after Mats' little mistake and France's push. Toni got his first touch of the ball and immediately found the perfect angle to pass to Thomas. Leon, who had been sitting, docile as a mouse, on Jessica's lap, thrust his hands into the air in joy. 

"VATI, VATI, VATI!" Luan and Noah yelled in unison, as Miro received Thomas' pressured pass. It was a difficult ball to control, especially with Koscielny literally milimetres away from him, but he managed to direct it away from the French centre-back and passed it back out to Mesut.

"Bonjour, Mesut," Koscielny said under his breath, as he loomed upon the Arsenal midfielder. Mesut smirked at him. 

"Sorry for this, Lolo," he said slyly- and made to curve the ball around the defender. Koscielny, however, well-acquainted with Mesut's little tricks and manouevres, shifted his body just in time to block the ball. Mesut looked shocked.

"No, dear,  _I'm_ sorry," Koscielny said, pretending to be heartfelt. He booted the ball out to Tolisso.

"You little fucker!" Mesut howled.

Fips was on Tolisso's tail. The central midfielder gave his club captain a look as he tried to avoid getting tackled. 

"Get out of it, Fips, will you?" he said, stopping suddenly to try and create distance between the two of them. "I'm trying to-  _do_ something, here!"

Fips had been about to make a witty retort, but his eyes widened as Coco swung his foot in an arc and sent the ball flying through the air, towards-

"OLIVIER!" Kai yelled. Then he received several unimpressed looks, and a death glare from Sami. "Sorry, sorry! I just got excited!"

The beautiful French striker had gotten his first touch. Jonas ran towards him, any semblance of polite reticience gone from his eyes. Olivier thought the man looked rather angry. The left-back charged as if to tackle, but Olivier managed to keep the ball under his possession and sent a pass towards Kingsley.

"Hello, you little bastard," Jerome said cheerfully, there to greet the pacey winger. "You think you can get past me, brat?"

"Don't even start with me, old man, I can leave you behind in the dust," Kingsley said with a savage grin. He did a step-over, leading Jerome to scowl- showboating and tricks, that was how his club teammate was going to play it, well, he could easily predict what the arrogant kid was going to do next-

It took a mad lunge to guess what the end result of Kingsley's step-overs was going to be, but Jerome managed to connect with the ball. Training sessions galore had taught Jerome how his teammates worked- but certain youngsters rarely felt the need to observe and learn from others.

He managed to knock the ball away from Kingsley, but it wasn't enough to maintain solid possession again. 

"Hummels!" Jerome yelled, as Griezmann hurtled forwards to get what Kingsley had lost. Mats swept forwards and got the ball, but had to make a hasty turn not to lose the ball straight away and clumsily passed towards Fips.

"I could do a better job as a centre-back," Marco declared loudly. Mario, who was nervously running his fingers through his hair, the team's shakiness making him anxious, inwardly cringed as Benni rounded upon his boyfriend. Before the Schalke centre-back could say something he would regret, however, Julian Draxler quickly jumped in to save the day and steered Benni away.

"Don't touch me, you PSG scumbag," Benni said irritably, pushing Julian's arms away and folding his own. He turned his head towards Marco again, mouth opening to say something scornful, and Marco squared up too, a malicious glint in his eyes-

"Please don't start a brawl in the dugout, Benz," Manu said patiently, just as Benni was about to unleash. The Schalke captain looked as though he wanted to glare at the goalkeeper, but eventually decided against it and looked back towards the match, scoffing. 

Julian was shocked.  _Benni,_ listening to  _Manu?_

"Tch. Pussy bitch," Marco muttered. Mario cringed again.

"Please don't keep stirring shit up, baby..."

"Look! It's Olivier again! He's _so_ beautiful," Kai said loudly, to distract everyone from their tension, apparently forgetting that he was creating infinitely more with Sami. "I  _talked_ to him..."

Olivier Giroud had gotten the ball again. This was a worrying theme and Jerome was starting to feel that it would persist throughout the match. Marc-Andre had not given his men many orders yet- which was strange, because he was usually pretty vocal when directing the Barcelona back-line. Was it the nerves the substitute goalkeeper always faced, an unwillingness to show a sense of authority to players you never really got to play with?

"Zurück, zurück!" Jonas shouted, when he got the ball back, indicating that his partner fullback and the two centrebacks needed to clear some space so he had better passing options. Fips obliged and received the ball in the next pass.

There was still yet to be a shot on target, but if Per was betting on who was going to get the first one, he was going to give it to France. They were being much more aggressive. The agitation that came from making little mistakes, no matter how inconsequential they were, was making life difficult for Germany. There were bound to be more lapses in concentration the more they let themselves dwell on the errors. Per attributed this unfocused behaviour to the Big Gays. They were obviously causing drama again.

He was proven right a moment later. The ball flew in from the right wing, courtesy of Kingsley Coman, and Olivier Giroud shaped up to take a shot. The ultimate gay Jerome couldn't block it, so it led to the defiant gay Marc-Andre having to make his first save, prodding the ball gently out of play. The shot was fairly weak but it had the bench players grumbling. 

"Come on," Lukas said aggressively. "They need to be sharper on that one!"

"Yeah, where the fuck was Hummels?" Marco asked. "Bet he wasn't even on the television screen for that one."

He gave Benni a furtive, challenging look, not really knowing why he was deliberately trying to provoke the temperemental defender. Maybe it was because it was fun, maybe it was because this was Jonas all over again-

 _Shut up, shut up, shut up!_ he thought, as he smirked at the furious Benni at the same time.

"Thank God for Marc-Andre, eh?" Joshua blew out air through his mouth. Bernd leaned back in his seat and pulled the hood of his jacket over his eyes.

France went to take the first corner. Marc-Andre directed the players to where he wanted them to stand and the referee waited to blow his whistle. Everyone was being diligently marked, but it only took the slightest loss of focus for the ball to go into the net anyway, they had to be highly concentrated-

"Come on, we can stop this!" Kai said hesitantly.

Julian Brandt groaned. "Now look what you've fucking done, Kai. You jinxed it."

Laurent Koscielny had directed an outstanding header into the back of the net. Everyone let out a disbelieving shout as the France fans cheered explosively. The Arsenal centre-back jumped into the air and grinned appreciatively at the home fans, whilst the German players scowled heavily.

"One down is literally nothing," Lukas said crossly, pounding his fist into his hand and looking rather scary. "I don't know why those cunts up there are acting as though they've won the Champions League."

"Everyone celebrates, Lukas," Mario Gomez sighed. "Don't get too agitated about it."

Luan and Noah started booing wildly when the Germans went one down, so loudly that other fans in the terraces looked around at them, amused despite their irritation. Highly embarrassed, Sylwia tried to gently shush them and direct their attention back to the game. Jessica, on the other hand, was happily yelling abuse at the French side whilst covering the bemused looking Leon's ears.

Per sighed. Of course his club centre-back partner had to be the one to score. He was never going to hear the end of this if the Germans didn't come back quickly.

Incensed at going down, the team looked to respond fiercely to the French. Tentative movements turned into aggressive sprinting. Leon dribbled the ball down the length of the pitch before being apprehended by Tolisso.

"I'm gonna need you to get the fuck out of the way," Leon said between gritted teeth. 

"Sorry, can't do that. Let's come to a compromise, you give me the ball and  _then_ I'll get out of your way," Tolisso said gently.

"You don't need to be  _quite_ so devoted to your little deal with that salty bastard Rodriguez, you know."

"Who says I'm playing like this just for him? Not everything revolves around you Germans. I want to win too."

"Goretzka, what are you talking about?" Jonas yelled, running ahead. "Gib den Ball weiter!"

Leon blinked in astonishment, but didn't have time to remain shocked, Jonas was waving aggressively for the ball. Leon's reaction time wasn't fast enough however and as he went for the pass Tolisso dispossessed him.

"Entschuldigung!" Leon yelled at Jonas, who jerked his head, as if to indicate,  _it's okay._ It didn't really look okay. Jonas' jaw was clenched.

" _That_ was careless of Goretzka!" Kai sang, looking pleased rather than aghast at his comrade-in-arms making a mistake. Julian rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, he lives up to my reputation," Michael Ballack muttered. Oliver Kahn rolled his eyes.

There was another string of passes, but they were stopped by Mats. The energy of the match had suddenly become frenetic, as if everything was at stake. 

Mats passed to Jerome. Jerome's expression was one of intense concentration as he set up one of his diagonal long balls for Thomas to claim.

"Oh,  _amazing_ ball," Marco said loudly. "Imagine outshining your partner that much in a single move."

"Schön!" Thomas shouted. He was in a good position to cross. He sent a low, powerful cross that couldn't be stopped by Varane to Miro, who took a furious shot with his left foot-

"Oh, just fuck off!" many of the players on the bench yelled- Lukas actually jumped to his feet and started swearing. The fans let out screams of frustration, and Luan and Noah jumped up and down angrily. Miro's shot had bounced off the post- and it had looked like Hugo Lloris wasn't going to get to it.

Michael Ballack swore very loudly and threw his hands up in frustration. Oliver Kahn gave a low whistle of annoyance.

"Verpiss dich," Miro muttered to himself, fanning his face with his hand and holding up an apologetic hand to his teammates, as though it had been his fault fate had guided the ball to strike the post and not the corner of the net. 

"Das war so nah!" Sami complained. "You've got to score that one."

"It was just unlucky as fuck," Mario Gomez muttered. "Miro doesn't usually miss ones like that."

France and Germany were exchanging fire at a furious rate, the Germans having finally shed their anxious shell and showing a bit more power and courage on the field. They were led in part by Thomas, who was consumed with a passion and was shouting orders at his teammates, and by Fips, whose cool leadership naturally set an example to everyone. Basti's workrate and ceaseless

Jonas was also showing spirit and determination, actually telling his national teammates what to do, rather than just following their lead. Jerome governed the defence, but they were all working off of each other. Marc-Andre was still being fairly silent in between his sticks.

"Hector's showing a bit of backbone, isn't he?" Oliver said, sounding pleased, from the studio. "Instead of being a stammering wreck and apologising for giving the opposition a little shove."

"Eh, he's always like that. Different personalities on and off pitch," Michael said dismissively. "It's the same for everyone. Apart from Ronaldo, he's a cunt both ways."

"Maybe he's showing a bit too much backbone," Jan murmured. 

Jonas had just made a fairly late challenge on Kante, leading to a yellow card being shown. Jonas helped the defensive midfielder back up onto his feet but didn't say anything to him, turning around to get into position to prepare for France's retaliatory free kick.

"Is that even possible?" Kai asked, open-mouthed. "Jonas just got a yellow!"

"He gets a few of them for Köln, you know that, Kai. He likes to foul, Jonas does," Julian Brandt said. "Tactically, though. He's not Ramos."

"We love a quick-thinking king," Joshua sighed, his eyes full of admiration.

Sami rolled his eyes, unable to believe they were twisting Jonas getting a yellow into something positive. Marco stared out at the pitch, his lips tightly sealed. Mario noticed this sudden drop of energy.

"When the hell are these bastards going to score?" he complained, dropping his head onto his boyfriend's shoulder, giving him a covert glance. Marco gave a cheeky grin, the contemplative look on his face vanishing at once.

"They can't score when I'm not around and Hummels is on the pitch, Mar," he sighed dramatically. "Maybe we should give up the idea of winning this match..."

"Yeah, keep talking, Reus," Benni murmured. Germany had just gotten a corner. 

The ball was sent through the air and it was a free-for-all. Mats, as was seemingly required by law, jumped into the air to meet a header. It went just wide.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Mats shouted. Jerome gave him a quick, reassuring hug.

"Sure, Höwedes," Marco said pleasantly, as everyone on the bench groaned and pounded the air with their fists in frustration. "I'll keep talking. Remind me of what I was saying, again, though? Was it something about the team not being able to score when Hummels is on the pitch?"

"You fucking-" Benni wasn't particularly angry about the Mats roast, because he was going to be doing that himself later- he was just irritated because it was Marco talking, and for some reason Marco's existence seemed infinitely more annoying than it usually was today. _More_ than just annoying. He rose from his seat.

" _Sit_ down, Benni, please," Julian Draxler pleaded, pulling his former captain down again and holding him back. "You two are gonna get a ban or something. Just chill, bossman!"

"Let go of me, Draxler, I'm going to seal his jaw shut with his own blood," Benni snarled. His blood was boiling. Marco had been prodding at him for too long.

"Come on, then, Höwedes," Marco said challengingly. He didn't sound like he was joking much anymore. "Where are you gonna get that blood from? Your boyfriend's corpse? They are murdering him out there, after all-"

"I'll get it from your goddamn overinflated head, I just need a pin to puncture it-"

"Get a pin from your club, they've used a lot of them to make those T-Shirts-"

"Let  _go_ of me, Draxler!" Benni was wrestling to reach Marco. Kai was open mouthed and everyone else was looking embarrassed.

Mario Gomez looked at Lukas, who was technically meant to be the next authority figure after Fips and Basti, given that he was the fourth oldest on the team. Lukas was scary when he wanted to be, but right now he was more focused on the match than breaking up any silly infighting.

"Hey, calm down, you two!" Mario Götze said, pushing Marco down and holding up a hand to keep Benni away. "Let's just chill, okay? Otherwise half the cameras in the world will be on you!"

Marco smirked mockingly. "Höwedes would love that, though, it's the only way he can get recognition in the wider footballing world-"

"OH, JUST SHUT THE FUCK _UP_ , YOU ECHTE LIEBE LITTLE FAKE!"

"GO AND MAKE A _T-SHIRT_ WITH YOUR FACE ON IT, HÖWEDES, DISTRIBUTE THEM AND MAYBE MORE PEOPLE WILL KNOW WHO THE FUCK YOU EVEN ARE!"

 _"Guys!"_ Jesus, Mario had never appreciated Fips enough for the amount of control he had over these people. "Guys, will you just calm down!"

"Mein Gott, I thought shit like this was going to get better when Mats and Benni got together, but nothing will ever change," Julian Draxler groaned, still trying to pull Benni backwards.

Benni gave Marco a malevolent look. "Why don't you ask Reus why shit like this never got better?"

Marco's face grew stony at once. Immediately the atmosphere became a lot more chilly, and all the cheering and yelling in the stadium seemed to have been muted. Everyone on the bench exchanged wary looks.

"Shut the fuck up," Marco said coldly. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Mario looked from Marco to Benni in alarm. Benni's face was scarlet with anger and his jaw was tightly clenched. Marco looked enraged. Somehow the fight seemed a _lot_ more serious.

"Make me shut the fuck up," Benni snarled, mockingly gesturing for Marco to approach him. "Try and I'll fucking knock you out."

"Holy shit, guys!" Mario Gomez said, standing up. Sami had joined him, looking incredibly wary. "You two need to stop, right now!"

"FINE THEN, I WILL!" Marco shouted. He surged forwards, shoving past Mario, and Benni made forwards as well-

Both of them were suddenly stopped in their tracks by someone blocking them both. Manu had stood up and moved between them. 

"If you two are finished," the goalkeeper said quietly. "The team have just scored." 

Everyone on the bench looked towards the game in shock. The fight had completely taken their minds off of football. The equaliser had just been scored by Toni, who pumped his fist in the air and ran around the pitch, whilst everyone yelled appreciatively. 

Marco and Benni looked back at each other. There was actual hatred in both of their eyes, not just the comic anger that came from petty little disagreements like this. Kai had his mouth covered anxiously and almost looked like he was going to cry. Mario's eyes were still wide in shock.

"C'mon, Reus," Sami said steadily, after a few seconds of this charged silence, taking Marco's arm. "Come and sit next to me. Come  _on._ "

The two of them seemed unwilling to tear their glares away from each other. Mats, who was jogging near the sidelines, grinning in relief at the equaliser, cast a casual glance over to the bench to give Benni a wave. When he saw the situation, his eyes widened and he froze. 

Benni looked out of the corner of his eyes and saw Mats staring at him. His resolve wavered. He couldn't distract his boyfriend right now. He gave Mats a tentative smile and broke his stand-off with Marco, stalking over to sit on the far side of the bench. Sami pulled Marco to the other end of the bench. Mario followed anxiously.

Manu remained standing, looking at Benni calculatingly, and then at Marco. The centre-back looked almost on the verge of tears, staring furiously out at the pitch without really seeing anything. Marco was seething, his fists clenched by his side and his jaw tight.

Everyone awkwardly tried to return their attentions to the reason why they were here. Passing had started up again but nothing of substance was being produced yet. Nobody wanted to gossip about the possible reasons why Benni and Marco had really lost their heads just then. But nobody could stop thinking about it either.

"Marco, baby," Mario whispered to Marco, who glared out at the moving players. "Marco, baby, please, just talk to me. What the hell was that about? I've never seen you and Benni like that before!"

"Not the time to talk about it, Mar," Marco said under his breath.

"But it was the time to yell about it?" Mario said in frustration. "Fucking hell, it's never the time to talk about it with me, is it, Marco?"

"For once, don't fucking  _start_ with me, Mario!" Marco shouted, having reached his limit. "Please, for the love of God!"

Sami winced heavily. He couldn't believe how awkward he felt. This was possibly the worst position he could be in right now.

Mario stared at Marco, who seemed to immediately regret his loss of temper.

"Look, I'm sorry-"

Mario stood up and walked away, going to sit next to Bernd. Bernd didn't seem to be particularly bothered by anything at the moment and didn't question the move.

Marco sat forwards, covering his face with his hands. 

This state of tension was both on and off the pitch. The whistle blew again for another foul, though one pretty soft, and Toni jogged up to Jonas, genuine concern on his face.

"Everything alright with you?" he murmured to the left-back, who had known he had conceded another free-kick before his foot had even made contact with Griezmann. 

"I'm fine," Jonas murmured. "I'm sorry. I'm just- I'm just feeling a bit unfocused, today."

"Just relax a little," Toni said encouragingly, patting Jonas' cheek. He pushed a few of Jonas' dark curls out of his face and pressed his forehead against the left-back's, so only Jonas could hear him. "You're looking too tense. Breathe a little and you'll be fine, okay?"

Jonas wanted to stay in this position until the day he died. But they had to defend the freekick.

Jessica was beside herself in the terraces, and Jerome was grinning so wildly to himself that Olivier Giroud gave him an odd look. 

The free kick was the last move of that wildly fluctuating first half. It resulted in Marc-Andre having to make a quick-thinking save, and pretty much summed up how on the edge the German players were.

"That was difficult," Olivier called out to Mesut, as the midfielder wiped the sweat from his face. "You guys fight hard." 

"You got lucky with that first goal," Mesut said dismissively back, refusing to acknowledge anything good about France. Olivier rolled is eyes.

When the starting eleven filtered into the changing rooms, it became immediately apparent that something had happened on the bench- there was barely any excited chatter. Fips' antennae immediately started twitching. Mats went right up to Benni, his face full of concern.

"What happened?" he whispered, running his fingers through Benni's hair. "Baby, when I looked towards the bench-"

"You saw me and Reus squaring up," Benni filled in for him. He gave his boyfriend a faint, reassuring smile. "I'll tell you about it later. Don't think about it now."

Mats frowned at Benni. "Are you... okay?"

"Fine," Benni said gently. He leaned forwards to kiss Mats. "I love you. Go out and enjoy the second half. Don't worry about me."

"I always worry," Mats said quietly. "Promise me you'll tell me what happened." 

"I promise."

Mario Götze couldn't stand listening to another word the two of them said. He threw himself into conversation with Bernd.

"It's not the same without you on the pitch," Thomas murmured to Manu, giving him a kiss.

Miro came right up to Mario Gomez, giving him a quick hug. He was sweaty and breathing heavily.

"Hey," Mario said in a low voice, patting Miro on the back. "You were pretty good out there, old man."

"Vielen dank," Miro said slightly breathlessly. "I can't believe the state of that first miss. Bouncing straight off the post!"

"Don't worry about it," Mario snorted. "It was just unlucky. For the most part, you were-"

"-excellent," Michael Ballack said earnestly before the set of cameras focusing on him in the studio. "Klose was excellent, as per usual. His first touch was very nice on that missed attempt, it was just an awkward angle to shoot from. It was close."

Jerome was busy squeezing the life out of Toni in a congratulory hug, but he noticed quite distinctly that Mesut and Sami weren't really talking to one another. He also noticed the distance between Marco and Mario. He was about to make for the two pairs and interrogate when Jogi signalled it was time for the half-time 'tactical' talk.

In the French changing rooms, Didier Deschamps was going over all the ways the French needed to expose the German weaknesses. Today the white and black team seemed to be opening themselves up a lot more than usual, and he was perfectly convinced that his team could score a couple more goals. 

"Hummels definitely seems distracted today. That is a rare privilege, and we must take advantage of it," the French coach said, striding up and down. He was turning a blind eye to the vast number of his players who were fucking around. "I have seen Boateng being forced to rush in to assist him on occasion. This is good. Keep putting that kind of pressure on him."

"I would put pressure on him... If you get what I mean," someone shouted out rather crudely amongst the crowd of players.

"Jesus Christ, shut up," Olivier said, rolling his eyes heavily. "That Benedikt Höwedes would cut you apart if you made such a comment in front of him..."

Deschamps paid no heed to the vulgar comment. "Keep up the pressure on Hummels, yes, that was one of my points. We should make the game more physical, brute force is what you need against a team such as Germany- you know Schweinsteiger, he would go down a thousand times before he gave up completely. We must be more aggressive."

Everyone looked towards the extremely shy and quiet N'Golo Kante- despite his appearance as being as harmful as a fruit fly, he was capable of intiating ruthless and calculated tackles without getting a single card. He nodded at his coach and shrunk into himself again, causing Paul Pogba to jump on him and start affectionately wrestling him.

"Speaking of being forceful," Deschamps continued. "Their left-back, Jonas Hector, is already on a yellow. I have watched him throughout the game, and he is behaving very recklessly indeed. But still, he is no doubt a thorn in our sides."

"Il est tellement mignon," Benjamin Pavard sighed. Everyone looked at him strangely. "What? I have played against him before. And Mario has told me so many stories about him, he is too sweet."

"But he will not be sweet by the end of the night, eh, coach?" Antoine said, with a wild grin, clicking his fingers together. He seemed to realise what their manager wanted from them.

"Hopefully he will not be. Frustrate Hector even more," Deschamps instructed his players. "Force him into getting a second yellow. If it requires a little simulation, so be it. This is the nature of football. If we can get him off of the pitch, it will be a bonus for us." 

There were nods of agreement. Olivier frowned.

"Anything to say, Hugo?" Deschamps asked Hugo Lloris, who was trying to calm down some of the wild younger players and get them to listen to the coach. 

"Euh," Lloris said in alarm, half pulling back Kingsley Coman from fighting Kylian Mbappe. "Only that... that there is still forty five minutes to get a winner. But also forty five minutes for them to get a winner. We must never let our guard down, not for a single second. C'est l'Allemagne. Ils sont tous fous."

There was laughter and applause at this most inspiring speech. Everyone was already aching to get back outside. 

"And so, as we head into the second half, what message do you think Joachim Löw will have given his players?" Jan Weigand asked Michael Ballack and Oliver Kahn in the ZDF studio.

 _Probably something entirely inconsequential and useless,_ Michael thought in his head. Aloud, he said, "To really tighten the defence and put more energy and confidence when moving forwards."

"Yeah, the defence is suffering from a few lapses in concentration," Oliver said, that famed glint in his eyes, the glint that sent every full-back and centre-half crashing to their graves, whether he was on the pitch with them or not. "The attacking movements also need to be more fluid, there's a lot of miscommunication. But there is plenty of time for a winner to be scored."

The players kept that in mind as they strode back onto the pitch for the second half. Mats forced himself not to think about what Marco and Benni might have been fighting about- there might have been a multitude of things they would lose their heads at each other about... it didn't necessarily have to be about...

"Los geht's, los geht's!" Jerome said fiercely, clapping his hands in Mats' face. "Was ist los mit dir, Hummels? Konzentriere dich auf das Spiel!"

"Es tut mir leid!" Mats said, turning his attention back to the game, rubbing some of the sweat off of his brow. He was starting to feel self-conscious again...

The ball was rolling again. On the bench, Marco and Benni had been firmly separated, with Sami keeping an eye on Marco and Manu and Julian Draxler blocking off Benni. On the pitch, Thomas was energetically conducting the team again, sprinting side by side with Kingsley Coman. 

"You're not a winger, Thommy boy," Kingsley sighed. "I thought we've established that."

"I'm doing a better job than you are, though," Thomas said, lunging to try and claim the ball. The two of them did a sort of bizarre dance, turning around in a circle, before Kinglsey was forced to poke the ball out of play.

"Honestly? Fuck you," Kingsley said, as Thomas gave the winger a little bow that had the fans cheering in approval and the cameras lapping him up.

Jonas went out to take the throw-in. Matuidi and Griezmann were standing way too close to him. Jonas scowled and took a step backwards, indicating to them that they definitely shouldn't be crowding him that much. The two of them would have continued being irritating if it wasn't for the referee's presence. They backed away.

Jonas hurled the ball outwards. Mesut claimed it and turned around, ready to do some random fuck-off magic to just get the ball into the box-

"Mesut is so  _lucky!_ " Kai cried from the bench. "He gets to be face to face with Giroud, just like that!"

" _How_ is he lucky, kid?" Sami roared at the boy. "He sees Giroud literally  _every day!_ This is not  _news,_ will you stop acting as though Mesut has encountered Rihanna every time he gives that French fucker a sideways glance! It's so  _annoying!_ "

Kai meekly sank to the ground. Julian patted him on the head. Bernd was honestly inclined to agree with Sami on this one. 

"We haven't really gotten to see each other that much," Olivier said mildly, as he and Mesut stood off against one another. "Salut, Mesut. C'est une belle journée, non?"

"You might want to root deeper into that bag of tricks you have there, Oli. Are you really trying to distract me by telling me that it's a beautiful day?"

Mesut started doing a few step-overs, but he knew exactly how to time them and he wasn't as liberal with them as the more flashy younger players were. Olivier's eyes narrowed, despite the challenging smirk on his face. 

"Bye bye, now!" Mesut said, shooting off in the other direction. Olivier chased after him, but his pursuit was fruitless, Mesut passed over to Jonas.

The second Jonas had the ball, he was immediately swarmed. Hernandez was practically suffocating him, pressing viciously and tugging at his shirt. Jonas put in a burst of pace to try and escape the defender, but found himself getting dragged backwards.

"Get out of it!" Jonas snarled, looking over to the referee, who didn't seem to deem the shirt-pulling a whistle-worthy offence yet. 

Hernandez didn't let go. Jonas had half a mind to shove him over, but realised that would probably earn him a second yellow. Eventually, he was forced to clumsily give the ball away.

"Fotze," Jonas muttered under his breath, his head hot with frustration. Hernandez had already left his side.

"SCHIRI! Oh, fuck off!" Lukas bellowed. "Not even a twitch of the whistle! But Jerome's little shoulder push was a free kick!"

"Bullshit, man," Mario Gomez agreed, shaking his head. "Nicht einmal eine gelbe Karte."

Jonas decided to get his revenge by putting in a slightly more aggressive tackle than necessary on Kante. It wasn't even enough to merit a word of warning from the referee, it probably deserved a stern look, but there was an instant whistle blow and a point to the left. 

"Seriously?" Lukas roared. Everyone joined in on the complaints. Jonas' eyes were wide with fury. 

"Come on, man! Just for that?" Toni said to the referee. The referee ignored the complaints and put a finger to his lips. Toni didn't dare press his point. This was the type of referee to give a card for simulation if you got bodily shoved down. 

The free kick led to nothing, as it was immediately intercepted by Jerome. Jonas was starting to seriously get angry. Every time he received the ball, about five players were on his tail, and totally unneccessarily, too. 

 _Deschamps has probably instructed them to annoy you,_ he thought in his head.  _They want you to get sent off. That's dirty!_

"You can fuck off, Arschloch," Jonas hissed at Griezmann, passing to Leon. He didn't feel guilty out on the pitch, his blood was roaring too loudly in his ears. Griezmann raised his eyebrows as if to claim innocence, but he knew what he was doing. 

"Those guys are straight cun- cunning little devils, aren't they, little lion?" Jessica said hastily. Her son was folding his arms crossly, surveying the scene in displeasure.

Tolisso was back again. Leon glared at him, feeling that the central midfielder was rather enjoying himself too much.

"Leon," the Frenchman asked, as if he was talking about the weather. "Do you like Serge?"

Leon stuttered in the midst of his run, completely losing focus for a moment and staring at him. Tolisso took his chance and dispossessed Germany  _again._

"What is he  _doing?_ " Kai, Sami and Manu yelled at the same time.

"That's cheating!" Leon wailed, chasing after Coco. "And I didn't give an answer! Don't take that as an answer!"

Jerome came bowling over to Tolisso, knocking the ball from his possession. This frenzied lack of concentration was seriously starting to annoy him. 

"You can't just negate all my hard work in one movement!" Tolisso yelled. 

"You threw it away yourself!" Jerome shouted back. He took a couple of steps backwards, scanning everything in an instant, calculating trajectories and angles and signalling to Thomas with his eyes that he needed to be in the right position. Instinctively, Thomas moved into place.

"RETOUR, RETOUR!" Hugo Lloris screamed at his men. He started jumping up and down between the posts, almost certain of what was coming-

"VATI, VATI, VATI!" Luan and Noah screeched. 

"JA! JAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" Michael Ballack bellowed, jumping out of his seat and pumping the air with his fist. " _Natürlich war es Klose!_ "

"Er hat es immer noch!" Oliver Kahn said, pleased.

Per roared in delight.

They had taken the lead! Miro jumped and pumped his fist in the air before going skidding across the turf on his knees. Absolutely relieved, the bench players threw up a racket, the usually diffident Mario Gomez leading them in a chant-

" _Er heißt Miro,_  
_Er schießt Tore,_  
_Er ist immer noch der Beste!"_

France were furious. As far as they were concerned, the goal had been completely against the run of play. But they still had to keep up the aggression and mind games, there was still time.

"Looks like you're up, Kai," Julian Brandt said, ruffling his friend's hair, as the coach signalled for him to start warming up. "But who's coming off? Goretzka?"

"I hope it is!" Kai looked absolutely delighted and shocked that he was about to be getting minutes. He jumped off of his seat. "So I can rub it in his face!"

Sami scowled. "It's not gonna be Goretzka. I think it's Mes." 

"Mesut?" Kai said, astonished. "But Mesut's been great!"

"Look at what he's doing, you stupid idiot," Sami said gruffly, jerking his head towards the pitch. Mesut was holding onto his calf and indicating to Jogi that he had some sort of strain.

"Oh, shit!" Kai said worriedly. "I hope the GOAT is okay-!"

"Hurry up and go, kid!" Bernd said, kicking Kai in the backside. "You need to get on the pitch quickly!" 

Kai scrambled to his feet. "Right, sorry!"

"Viel Glück!" Julian yelled after him. "You'll be a knock-out!"

Kai blew Julian a kiss as he ran off to warm up. Marco shoved his hands into his pockets and scowled, in an ideal situation  _he_ would be fucking put on the pitch, not the nineteen year old kid...

Toni and Basti were filling in for Mesut's midfield duties as the Arsenal midfielder stood to the side to avoid getting in the way. Olivier gave Mesut a concerned look, but Mesut gave him a thumbs up to indicate he was okay.

"Just got a little strain, I think, it's best if I get off," he shouted. 

Olivier nodded, and returned his attention to the field.

His teammates were currently following through on their endeavour to annoy Jonas Hector as much as humanly possible. Olivier thought they were definitely overdoing it- but by some small miracle, they had found a referee who was oddly benevolent towards them. It seemed like their tactics were working as well.

"Will you get _out_ of it!" Jonas shouted at Lucas Hernandez. "I'll give you my shirt after the game if you really want it that badly!"

Thomas burst out laughing, surprised and pleased by Jonas' outburst. "Is this the part where he calls your sister a whore, Jonas?" 

Hernandez held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "It is only part of the game, mon ami."

"You know what else is part of the game?" Jonas yelled at him. "Giving out yellow cards for shitty behaviour! But that's not happening at the moment, is it, _mon ami_?"

"Hey, what's going on, here?" the referee said. "Let's try and calm down and resume play."

Jonas gave the referee a filthy look, but didn't bother saying anything apprehensive towards him. Toni gave Jonas a pat on the shoulder as the left-back tried to calm down.

"Is that Jonas yelling at him, Mama?" Leon asked curiously.

"He is, little lion. I'm honestly not surprised, they're all being dickh- dic- disrespectful today, aren't they?"

The board went up on the sidelines. Mesut's number and Kai's number flashed. 

"Havertz is coming on?" Leon said, sounding disgusted. Kai was standing on the sidelines, jumping up and down, looking vibrant with energy. "Why not Götze?"

"Stop being so green," Fips said, rolling his eyes.

Mesut walked slightly lopsidedly off of the pitch, towards Kai, who beamed at him, eyes sparkling in excitement and delight. 

"Good luck, kid," Mesut murmured into Kai's ears, clapping hands with him and giving him a brief hug. "Go and smash it like you did last time, okay?"

"Okay!" Kai said, thrilled. "Thank you, GOAT! I'll try and make you proud!"

"You don't need to try." Mesut smiled at Kai and walked past him. Kai's knees practically dissolved and he almost collapsed on the spot.

Bernd yelled at him to hurry up and get on the pitch, giving Kai the initiative to set off at a run.

 _Don't look at Olivier Giroud, don't look at Olivier Giroud,_ Kai thought to himself, as his eyes fell upon Olivier Giroud. But he still gave a little squeak as his eyes fell upon... Olivier Giroud. The man smiled at him. 

Mesut went to sit by Sami, who had chosen to forget the events of the day out of concern for his friend. 

"Everything okay with your leg, Mes?" Sami asked. "Aren't you going to see the doctor?"

"It's only a little pull," Mesut said, between gritted teeth. "I'll get it checked out after the game. It's okay." 

He immediately noticed the general quiet on the bench, which was highly unusual, as there was usually shouting galore. Well, there was Lukas shouting, but nobody else was really joining in.

"Did someone die or what?" Mesut asked. "What's wrong with everyone? Why is Reus looking like that?"

Sami glanced over at Marco, whose ferocious glare had returned. 

"He had a massive fight with Höwedes," he said in a low voice. "Like, they were about to really throw hands."

"Höwedes? Really? Why the hell did that happen?" Mesut asked, his face full of confusion. "Like, a real fight?" 

"Yeah, real," Sami said with an earnest nod. "Not just one of their stupid little catfights. I don't know why they had it."

"Can you not talk about me like I can't fucking hear you?" Marco groused from behind them. Mesut and Sami exchanged looks and returned their attention to the game.

Julian Brandt was full of pride and joy for his best friend. Kai was running around with the energy and enthusiasm of a beginner, but still had the deadly skill of someone with plenty of experience of the game. The disgruntled expression on Leon Goretzka's face as the Leverkusen attacking mid sped backwards and forwards with the ball was probably the boy's biggest motivating factor. 

"If only I could take a video of him and send it to Jonathan!" Julian sighed to Bernd, who didn't seem impressed or interested in what Kai was doing.

"Why? Jonathan is probably watching this right now," Bernd said flatly. "Why are you acting like the kid is doing anything different from what he usually does, Jule?"

Julian hit Bernd. "Why are you so miserable? You should be  _happy_ for our little Kai, this was a dream for him last year, and now it's his reality?"

"God, you're so over fucking sentimental," Bernd said with a roll of his eyes. "He played last game. You play with him literally every week. This isn't special." 

Julian folded his arms. "You're so cold. It's like you don't even care about him."

"Ugh, Jesus Christ, not this again. Just because I'm not a goddamn cheerleader doesn't mean I don't care about the kid."

Julian remained staring petulantly outwards. Bernd turned his head to glare at the boy. 

"Don't give me the silent treatment, brat," Bernd said. 

Julian said nothing. 

"Holy shit, you're annoying," Bernd grumbled. "Look, will this make you happy?" 

He got to his feet, just as Kai got a pass. He started jumping up and down in the air. 

"AUF GEHT'S, JUNGE!" he shouted. Everyone looked at him in amusement. "ERHALTE EIN ZIEL, KAI!"

Kai glanced over to the side. His eyes widened in surprise at Bernd so actively cheering him on and he beamed, running faster.

"Look, now you're not the one cheering him on," Bernd said wryly to Julian, who looked surprised and confused by Bernd's enthusiasm. "Aren't you going to join me?" 

Julian gave Bernd a suspicious look. Then he rose slowly from his seat and joined the substitute keeper at the sidelines. 

"Komm schon Junge!" he yelled, leaping into the air. "Hol Oliviers Schwanz!"

"Okay, you don't need to go that far," Bernd said in embarrassment, as Mesut laughed and Sami scowled. "Now, is that enough appreciation for you?"

Julian nodded. Bernd went back to sit down, sighing- he hadn't meant to adopt two kids when he had started playing for Leverkusen,but such was life. He was still just as much their honourary big brother as ever.

In the ZDF studio, Oliver Kahn could see quite clearly that Michael Ballack was beyond green- he was fucking emerald at this point. The former midfielder was no doubt reliving memories of his own glory days as Kai Havertz took the field and made it his own.

"I miss it too, sometimes," the goalkeeper admitted.  Michael looked at him in surprise. "I miss being out there on the pitch, being in my prime. I would put some of these defenders right."

"Yeah," Michael muttered, holding onto his elbows and looking down. "I miss it too."

His heart, so fragile these days, gave a painful twinge as he saw Miro jogging on the pitch, making way for another free kick. 

"God, I'm glad I don't have to play with Hummels, though," Oliver admitted. "He's a great defender, but sometimes he does the stupidest things. What the hell was that about?"

Mats had made a mad lunge instead of tackling properly and had conceded the free kick. The centre-back was pale as he apologised to his teammates. Despite him vehemently forcing himself not to get distracted, he couldn't stop his eyes from lingering over to the bench and once again they had paid for his lack of concentration.

The free-kick was just barely stopped by Jonas, who was promptly shoulder-pushed to the ground as he lost control of the ball. Finally, the referee took action and whistled that Germany were going to take a free-kick this time.

"Aber immer noch kein gelb!" Lukas snarled. "Dieser Schiri ist so nutzlos!"

"They're trying to force Jonas into the red," Mesut told Sami, after gulping down some water. "They've been fouling him left and right. I've actually heard him shouting at them."

The following free-kick was equally as ineffective. It really seemed like both teams were trying to go for the most shithouse game possible. The Germans were losing focus as the slightest whim, and the French were trying out pure frustration tactics. They still hadn't managed to make Jonas succumb to a second yellow yet, but it really did feel like it was coming soon. 

Toni had the vaguest of hunches that today was the worst possible day for somebody to try and push Jonas to the edge. He thought back to everything that had happened recently- of Jonas' forced restraint, his sleeping issues, his almost debilitating reticience- and thought about the explosions of anger the left-back had already shown. It was probably going to be more infuriating for him to try and calm the man down. He just had to hope that Jonas' limitless reserves of patience  _remained_ limitless...

They definitely didn't need a red card when they were already feeling so vulnerable. Maybe it would be worth a substitution, maybe Benni should come in for the left-back so they didn't have to endure a potential drop down to ten men... Toni thought it would do Jonas some good, as well, he seemed too  _tired_ to keep playing, to keep hold of his temper... Benni wasn't a natural left-back, but he had  _played_ in the position a lot in his lifetime, it would be fine for the remainder of the game...

But it would also be wounding for Jonas' pride, Toni knew that.  _Damn_ football players and their intense care about their dignity...

Everyone on the bench was actively discussing ways that the French players should be punished for the way they were acting.

"Make them join Hamburg," Julian Draxler suggested. "They can rot away in the 2.Liga with a shit management and a ruined reputation."

"Or Gladbach," Julian Brandt offered. "Constantly in free-fall. They can hit the ground and crack their skulls."

"Nah, Tottenham would be the biggest punishment," Mesut said. "I can't imagine playing for a team so wildly inconsistent and overachieving."

"Better to be overachieving than chronically underachieving like your club," Joshua said. "Arsenal would be the worst case scenario for me, they have to live with never quite being good enough for anything- and we can beat them 10-2 once in a while."

" _Kimmich-!_ "

Joshua dived behind Julian Draxler, who wasn't exactly the type to square up but flexed a few of his... muscles, to show Mesut that he was not one to be messed with. Mesut was about to shove him aside, when something caught his eye on the pitch, and he froze in his tracks. 

A high cross-field pass had come in, and Olivier had leapt to try and control it.

His eyes were on the ball and on the ball only, his jaw set as his leg  raised high into the air, so he could take it down- and this lack of attention to his surroundings was costly. He couldn’t control the momentum of his flying leg, he only noticed that someone was in his line of sight at the last second, his eyes widened-

There was an awful cry of pain as boot connected against head- Olivier could _hear_ the impact his studs had against the jaw of the person he had hit. The French striker fell forwards along with Kai Havertz,  who hit the ground and did not move anymore.

The laughter on the bench died instantly. _Instantly._

The colour drained from Bernd’s face, and his hands came to cover his mouth. Julian leapt off the bench, screaming in shock- he had to be grabbed by Mario Götze, who was very white in the face himself.

“ _KAI!”_ Julian screamed. “KAI!”

“Calm down!” Mario yelled, trying to stop him from sprinting on the pitch. “You can’t just run out there, Jule, let the officials handle it-”

“I don’t care, let me _go!_ ” Julian howled. "KAI!"

The German crowd had exploded, yelling in rage and disbelief at the fall of their wunderkind. Olivier was horror-struck.

“Oh, mon _Dieu_ , oh, non, non, non, je suis désolé, je suis désolé!” he stammered, once he had recovered from his momentary stupor at seeing Kai Havertz, his goofy admirer from before, lying so ominously still on the grass.  “Lève toi, lève toi! Ouvre tes yeux, Havertz!”

Hugo Lloris had left his box and  joined him besides the unmoving form of Kai on the turf, his eyes very wide. He bent over to see Kai’s face.

“He is out!” the French captain shouted, as the referee ran over to the scene, along with the other Germany players. Leon looked completely stricken, Basti very serious and calm, Fips ghostly white. “Nous avons besoin d’aide! We need medical help, he has been knocked unconscious!”

The referee assessed the gravity of the situation with one sweeping look and instantly signalled for the support staff to come onto the pitch. The German players were gathered around Kai, all of them mutely terrified, but they parted at once when the medics came rushing towards the scene. Instantly the doctors were bent over Kai, who had blood trickling down the side of his head and had a horrible imprint of studs all the way up one half of his face. He seemed to be on the edge of consciousness, stirring painfully.

Everyone on the bench was absolutely astonished, terrified, upset. How could it be that in the space of a single second, something like  _this_ had happened? They had been laughing in delight just a few moments ago, Bernd and Julian had been cheering for Kai, and now  _this!_

“Fucking reckless challenge!” Sami was beside himself with rage, on his feet. “What the fuck was he thinking, not even looking to see where he was going, he needs to get off the fucking pitch-”

“He didn’t mean it!” Mesut shouted back. “It clearly wasn’t intentional at all!”

"Guys-" Marco said, standing up at once, moving between them.

“IT WAS STUPID AND RECKLESS, NOT EVEN LOOKING TOWARDS THE BALL! THE KID IS FUCKING OUT COLD, INTENTIONAL OR NOT, THAT’S A RED!”

“DON’T PRETEND TO CARE ABOUT KAI, YOU HAVE SOME SORT OF PROBLEM AGAINST OLI AND YOU KNOW IT!" Mesut yelled. "YOU KNOW YOURSELF THAT IT WASN'T HIS FAULT! WHAT IS  _WRONG_ WITH YOU?"

“ _This isn’t the time, you two!_ ” Marco bellowed at them, as Sami opened his mouth to scream furiously at Mesut. “There are more serious things to worry about!”

The two of them both stared each other down, before deflating somewhat, turning their attention back to the pitch, where the medics were examining Kai. While this went on, the referee reached into his book and pulled out a red card for Olivier Giroud.

“There,” Mesut said bitterly, as the crowd reacted gloomily, but understandingly, to the official’s verdict. “Are you fucking happy, now? _Are you?_ ”

A muscle was jumping violently in Sami’s jaw. Marco made Sami sit down on his left side so they weren’t together, but he was barely paying any attention to either of them. He looked more serious than anyone had ever seen him, all the anger he had been feeling throughout the match having dissipated at once.

The Frenchman did not protest against his punishment in any way whatsoever- he was more concerned with making sure that Kai was okay. It looked like the boy was returning to a conscious state, but it didn’t look as though there was any way in hell he would be able to continue playing. He was hardly breathing. The medics signalled for a stretcher.

“I’m so sorry,” Olivier told the Germans,  looking almost close to tears. “I’m so sorry, it was a total accident. This wasn't meant to happen.”

“Hey, don’t worry at all,” Thomas said very gently. “Anyone could see from a mile off you didn’t have any malicious intent behind what happened. The same thing happened with my red against Tagliafico during the Ajax game. I felt terrible, but it was a complete accident and nothing else. These things happen, Olivier. I’m sure Kai won’t ever stop his hero-worshipping.”

Fips had to admire how calm and measured Thomas sounded, even he, as captain, felt like biting his nails to stubs at the sight of Kai. Hugo Lloris, in his quiet, steady fashion, gave his teammate a hug.

Olivier smiled gratefully at Thomas, even though his eyes looked distinctly shiny. “Thank you. Thank you. I hope he recovers quickly. I’m sorry again.”

He turned around and walked off of the pitch. He received a hug from his manager and a couple of pats on the shoulder from his teammates on the bench, and then disappeared into the tunnel, a dejected figure.

“What a mess,” Oliver Kahn sighed, from the DFB studio. Michael was looking shocked and a little sick next to him. “At least they aren’t going the normal football route and playing him on, even though it looked like his thoughts were knocked from his body with that kick.”

“Well, that wasn’t ideal,” Jessica Farber said from the terraces, as little Leon’s mouth hung open. “Poor kid, Jesus Christ.”

The stretcher came onto the pitch. Leon and Fips helped the medics lift Kai onto it. It was very difficult to do so- Kai bowled over as if he was about to be sick, his body scarily limp, groaning. The blankness on the boy’s face frightened Leon the most, however. He was so used to seeing Kai full of enthusiasm and audacious energy that he had become accustomed to always seeing some sort of melodramatic expression or excited grin on his face. Now he simply looked dazed, and in a lot of pain. He was mumbling something under his breath.

Leon realised he was whispering Julian’s name.

“Jule’s here, Kai, Jule’s here,” he murmured, his voice breaking a little. “You’ll be alright, kid. You’ll be alright. These guys are gonna patch you up before you know it.”

Julian had succumbed to tears as he watched Kai being carried off the pitch. Mario was still holding onto him, but had to release him reluctantly as Jogi signalled for him to warm up. He was to be Kai’s replacement. Mario beckoned for Bernd to come and replace him.

Bernd wrapped his arms around Julian. “He’s going to be okay, you know. Head injuries happen a lot in football, he’s got medical professionals treating him from the get-go. Don’t worry about it.”

Julian looked like he wanted to yell vicious things at Bernd, but he could barely get any words out of his mouth. He just stood in silence, shaking. Bernd couldn’t stop the stinging in his own eyes. He didn't believe his own words.

It was a completely nightmarish incident, nobody knew how they could continue playing after seeing Kai like that. It had only been about ten or fifteen minutes since he had come on! The cruel dynamics that propelled games forwards, the events in life like this that came along and couldn't be stopped... Kai had experienced this way too early. Getting hit so hard, it was bound to be goddamn traumatic.

"We've got to win for him," Thomas said firmly. "We can't let ourselves fall apart now. We've got to be the team that Kai admires."

Everyone nodded, looking determined, but also faintly ill. Fips' teeth were chattering. 

_It had looked so bad, so dangerous... The kid had been bleeding so much... What if..._

_No, shut up!_ the captain thought fiercely to himself.  _It'll be fine. He'll be perfectly fine. He'll be up on his feet and being a cheeky little bastard before we even know it._

It had just been a tragic accident. Nothing more, nothing less. Nobody could've predicted it, it was nobody's fault. Fips had no reason to feel so guilty.

They had to resume the pace. They could still win. They  _had_ to win... 

But nothing was ever as easy as it sounded. In novels, in television, in films, this was the moment where the team were meant to rally together and score again to secure the win, and dedicate it to Kai. In reality, this was the moment where the team completely lost the plot.

 _I’ll never fully shake that sense of absolute impotence when destiny is at work. The feeling will cling to my feet forever, trying to pull me down._ _There are always lessons to be found in the darkest moments. It’s a moral obligation to dig deep and find that little glimmer of hope or pearl of wisdom. You might hit upon an elegant phrase that stays with you and makes the journey that little bit less bitter. We can try that now, but we won't manage to get beyond these words: for fuck's sake._

Griezmann had the ball beneath his feet and was streaking forwards towards goal. The team had unspooled like a stray thread on a jumper. Jerome had been caught off guard by his opponent’s sudden burst of speed and missed his opportunity to tackle, and Mats knew that there was no way he was going to reach the Atletico forward in time, he was too far behind-

“HUMMELS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Marc-Andre roared. “You’re completely crazy, get back into line!”

“Entschuldigung!”

The fear that came with watching an inevitable goal had consumed Mats, and he sprinted with reckless abandon to try and fix the gaping hole his bad positioning had left. His efforts were looking fruitless.

Marc-Andre had been left in a one-on-one situation- except- someone else was fast approaching Griezmann from behind, the last resort-

“ _Verdammte scheiße_ ! _Nein!_ ” Mats said, covering his face with his hands. “He’s definitely off!”

“Unglaublich,” Manu said, pressing his fingertips against his eyelids. “Es ist ein Elfmeter. Und noch ein Gelb...”

The German fans were in pure disbelief.

Antoine Griezmann had been sent sprawling onto the turf in the box with an agonised yell as a sliding boot had knocked the ball from his possession. There was immediate pandemonium. The France fans behind Germany’s goal were immediately howling in both delight and indignation at their star being fouled, everyone in the German technical area was shaking their heads in numb disbelief and the players on the pitch were looking completely dumbfounded…

The second yellow card and the blow of the whistle  to signify a penalty had been given combined to make the fatal blow. Jonas Hector, the hero from the Germany versus Netherlands match, who had somehow managed to keep his temper for most of the match, was being sent off.

In the ZDF studio, Michael Ballack’s eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline. Oliver Kahn was swearing.

Jonas got to his feet, not looking at the referee, or his nearby teammates, or Antoine Griezmann. He was looking at Toni Kroos.

A muscle was jumping frantically in his jaw.  There was an almost savage fury on his face. And this time he did not try to hide it.

 _Jonas, this is what happens,_ Toni thought, heartbroken. _This is what happens when you let everything build up. You end up being unable to control yourself._

“I’m sorry,” Toni murmured. Jonas turned his head away from him.

“Griezmann made the most of that!” Lukas yelled from the bench, as they watched Jonas in shock. “A second yellow my left testicle! THEY'VE BEEN FOULING JONAS ALL DAY AND HE'S THE ONE WHO GETS THE RED! JUST FUCK OFF, REF, YOU STUPID CUNT!”

Several of the players agreed vehemently with him, but nobody sounded too sure. Marco was the only one who remained silent.

When Marco played, he tended to be able to _feel_ those on the pitch around him. He could tell whether they were nervous, or excited, or frustrated, from how wildly their limbs moved, how they stood when they were waiting for something to happen, how they reacted to referee decisions. When he was chasing someone for the ball he could sense what they were feeling, when he saw them approaching him for the tackle he understood what their motivation was. He had learnt quickly what type of player Jonas was. Jonas was someone who played emotionally. If his emotions were running wild, his style of play ran wild. He could make explosive runs and shout out to his teammates and steal the ball from opponents as viciously as he deemed fit. And today he had been very, very reckless. 

Yes, they had been pushing him. They had been finding all the right buttons to press, because he was already on a yellow. But they had only been the catalyst for his explosive reaction. All those emotions had already been lingering there. Kai's injury might have been the reason for the desperation too, but Marco had the distinct feeling that Jonas had been  _waiting_ for a moment like this... Where better to release some of that pent-up energy than on the pitch, where everyone would see it as a stupid foul and nothing else? Who, sitting in their homes in front of the television, or in the terraces of the stadium, would think that Hector had finally snapped after all the strain he had been feeling?

 _Go, Jonas! Go! Keep it all in there- it’ll all come out eventually!_ Marco might have been a filthy hypocrite, but he hadn’t been _wrong_ when he had confronted Jonas a few days ago.

“I’m sorry, Jonas,” Mats said despairingly, placing a wary hand on Jonas’ back. “If I had just been there in time you wouldn’t have had to do that, that was on me for putting you in that position-”

“It’s alright, Junge, you didn’t mean it,” Jerome said, shaking his head. “This shit happens.”

Jonas didn’t say anything to them. He didn’t apologise to Griezmann, or to his teammates. He turned on his heel and strode right off of the pitch. Past the coach, past the players who tried to reassure him, and straight into the tunnel.  

His eyes flashed to Marco only briefly as he left the pitch, but it was still long enough for him to want to punch the Dortmund captain in his fucking hypocritical sympathetic _face._

“Mama,” Leon said in a small voice. He had lost all of his energy in that one tense moment, and he was very still. “Did Jonas do something bad?”

“No, little lion, it was something a lot of footballers do.” Jess didn’t personally see anything abhorrent in what Jonas had done- compared to other leg-breaking tackles and blatant fouls she had seen over the years, his challenge had been tame. “Looks like Jonas just lost his attention and made a silly foul. Luckily there’s only ten or so minutes left, they’ll be fine, France only has ten men too.”

 _It’d probably be best if this game ended quickly._ For the average viewer it had been full of excitement, but for the players it had been nothing short of a nightmare. Kai’s horror injury, Giroud’s red card, and now Jonas Hector, the hero of a few nights ago, was gone too… She could only imagine how tense Toni must be feeling right now.

Everyone’s focus had been completely shattered, now. There was to be no heroic win. None of the players on the pitch seemed to know what to do with themselves.

Marc-Andre was getting ready in the box for the incoming penalty. Bernd had slid down so low in his seat on the bench that his knees had drawn level with his nose. He had pulled his hood over his face to hide the redness of his eyes. He didn’t have the energy to care whether Marc-Andre saved it majestically or conceded it through his legs. All he could think about was Kai, oh, Kai… Julian was still silently wiping away tears next to him, aware of the presence of the cameras but unable to stop them from flowing...

Mats was trying to control himself as he watched Griezmann prepare to take the penalty. How could he have been so negligent in his defensive duty? What had he been _thinking,_ lingering so far off of his line? The penalty was as much his fault as it was Jonas’. It had been the last man through on goal because of _him_ , fucking _hell,_ he was such an idiot…

This game had been so fucking horrible... Not only was the red on his mind, but Kai's bloody face, and Benni and Marco snarling at each other... His own fucking uselessness... 

Marc-Andre took deep breaths as he faced off Griezmann. This game was one to fucking forget, that was for sure. But they had to at least try and wring  _some_ semblance of positivity out of this...

 _Save it, Marc-Andre,_ the second goalkeeper thought. _Save it. For Kai, for Jonas, for the team. Come on, we can get through this day with at least a win. Save it!_

Griezmann was doing his run-up. Marc-Andre stared him down, anger and frustration boiling within him. He thought of Kai being carried off on a stretcher. He thought of his teammates’ crushing dejection and anxiety.

_"That kid is gonna be the future," Bernd said mildly, as he stretched out beside Marc-Andre. "You can forget about your buddy Leroy, or about yourself being anything special to German football. The Leverkusen starlet is going to be putting joy into everyone's hearts. He's the best!"_

_Marc-Andre gave him a skeptical look. "He's like, eight years old. It's way too early to say he's going to be that great."_

_"I know it in my heart, you stupid fucker," Bernd said aggravatedly. "My judgement is never wrong. Kai is going to make us all proud one day."_

He would save this… He had to save it... Otherwise he would just be making everybody feel worse...

The ball left Griezmann’s foot. But Marc-Andre couldn’t tell where it was going, somehow his vision had blurred and his throat had closed up, he had to dive somewhere, so he guessed, throwing himself to the left…

“Gott _verdammt!_ ”

“BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUT!” the fans roared. Griezmann ran past the goal, arms raised, with his teammates pursuing him, all of them wanting to hug the goalscorer who had equalised for them. The man ran right up to the home crowd and placed his fingers to his head in the shape of an L, dancing up and down.

“What a fucking _loser_ ,” Lukas raged. “That’s the most obnoxious thing I’ve ever seen in my life, well, he can be happy, but we’ll fucking show them… Mach weiter, Mario! Geben Sie ihnen Hölle!”

Mario Gomez was being called up for late sub duty. It was apparent that Miro was out of gas, he had slowed down considerably on the pitch. The Stuttgart striker winced as their coach indicated he should get up and start warming up.

“He’s taking Miro off?” Michael Ballack muttered from the studio. “That’s a wack decision if I’ve ever seen one.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Open your eyes, Ballack, he can barely run. He _wants_ to get subbed off.”

Miro did indeed look grateful when the substitution board came up. He gave his teammates a quick thumbs up as he jogged over to the sidelines, and when he met with Mario, who looked cool and composed, he gave the man a hug, murmuring in his ear, “I have faith in you.”

“Danke, Miro,” Mario muttered.

_But there's not much faith can do now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know, i know. i made many kai-olivier knockout jokes before this chap because i'm a terrible, awful person. 
> 
> right, i'm not going to bother worrying too much over this chapter, i jus will drive myself insane because it's too long to worry about every individual bit, i know you guys will be kind to me and enjoy it anyway
> 
> i dont want to ekep doing this to yall, but i'd expect updates after this to be more sparse for the next month or so, i've got loads on my schedule. hopefully around summer time i'll have plenty of time for updates! given that chapters are going to stay long it will take long to write them anyway. i hope the ceaseless drama is a good compromise!
> 
> couldn't remember zdf presenter's name so i just named him both after my coach and my friend thomas :)
> 
> if you're in the slightest bit interested, i posted the first chapter of a prequel fic to this bullshit fic! a goddamn prequel before this is even finished!! in my defence the writer's block for this chap got bad so i started writing about benni/mats and got addicted they're such a good couple. similar to how this fic's main couple is mesami, the prequel fic is based around benni/mats along with marco's original drama, but there's plenty of other drama surrounding it, it's basically backstory to 99.9% of this fic
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/18575179/chapters/44032525
> 
> after these two are finished i might write some solitary oneshots for all the couples then i have a plan... for a big, ugly tournament fic... i hate myself and i hate you guys so im inflicting my terrible writing on you tenfold
> 
> hope you enjoyed the chap!!


	72. Chapter 72

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> international break no.2  
> part 27!  
> aftermath of the bullshit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i have no good excuse for why this chapter has taken so long. my lifes a fUcKing cesspool and i am more sorry than i would be if i killed someone about how long it's been and the quality you've received after this long wait
> 
> disclaimer- i know nothing about medical procedures take my reality rule up your ass
> 
> and i'm not even going to acknowledge hummels going to dortmund. again- alternate reality
> 
> the petty drama in this is astounding

Per leaned back in his seat, staring out at the pitch in disbelief, wondering what on Earth he had just witnessed. He had experienced his fair share of bad games in his career, but none of them had been as bad as the game Kai had just had. Subbed on for only ten minutes, and this was what had happened in those ten minutes...

It was no wonder the players all looked like they were in a dream once the final whistle blew. The fans were as loud as ever, having just witnessed an absolute thriller of a game- there had been goals, drama, violence and sending-offs to boot- but to the players, the events of the day had been surreal. France were more triumphant than penitent about what had happened in the match, whereas Germany were all unusually solemn... He could see Fips looking harrowed down below... 

Jessica craned her neck to get a glimpse of the national team players from beside the older mother, Leon hanging to her and also gazing worriedly at the pitch. She caught sight of Toni standing by himself at the sidelines, staring down at the tunnel, a mild frown on his face. She tried to attract his attention, but he was too absorbed in his thoughts. She imagined that his distraction was stemming from the fact that  _Jonas_ had gotten a red card... Perhaps Toni was worried about him... Jonas really hadn't had his usual composed style of playing today.....

Jerome walked up behind Toni, patting the midfielder on the back. Toni looked at him questioningly and Jerome jerked his head towards the tunnel.

"C'mon, let's go back in," the centre back said quietly. "We need to get off this damn pitch. Jonas will be in there, you can check if he's okay."

Toni nodded. "Jesus, that was a rough game from him today." 

"It was a rough game from a lot of people," Jerome sighed. His hand went to his temple. "That poor kid, man... His face looked fucked up... I hope he's going to be alright..."

"Concussions aren't fun," Toni muttered. "But he'll get proper care. This shit didn't look like something he could pass off, so he'll get serious treatment for it."

"Yeah. It's not going to stop Julian from freaking the fuck out, though." Jerome rubbed his nose tiredly. Julian and Bernd had raced out of sight the moment the game had ended, trying to find out what was happening with Kai. "Today's really been fucking shit, hasn't it? Injury, red card, not even a win..."

"You'd better hope Lewandowski has pulled something out of the bag, this day can't be _that_ much of a train wreck," Toni muttered. He regretted that comment the second he said it- Jerome's face immediately fell. "Wait, no, Jeri, hold on-"

The damage was done. Jerome left Toni's side at once and starting sprinting ahead towards the dressing rooms. Toni hurried to catch up with him, cursing his blunt tongue.

"I'm sure it's not going to be that bad!" Toni called after him. "Goddamn it, Toni, you just had to bring him up-"

He ran into the changing room. There were a few people already there- a white-faced Leon was tapping something into his phone, Fips was fretting about Julian and Bernd and Marc-Andre was looking lost. Sami was bright red in the face, wearing a furious expression as he rapidly changed his clothes. Mesut had left the changing room to reassure Olivier that everything was okay. Marco and Mario were standing far apart from each other, Marco standing beside Sami and Mario with Marc-Andre.

Jonas was sitting on the table of refreshments set up at the end of the dressing room, with a pair of earphones in his ears and a completely forbidding expression on his face. Toni's eyes flickered towards him for a split second, and he felt his heart drop, but before he could say anything, Jerome, who had dived for his phone, let out a loud groan.

"4-1," the defender moaned, dropping onto one of the benches. " _4-1..._ Fick mich in den Arsch..."

"Fucking hell," Toni said, shaking his head. "Let me guess, it wasn't to Poland..."

"Hot fucking prediction, there, Toni. Of course it wasn't to Poland. Jesus, Rob didn't even score the goal, it was Piatek," Jerome said miserably. He sat forwards and put his head in his hands. "Fuck off with this bullshit... 4-1, fucking brilliant _._.."

Toni took a moment to be thankful that he was not in Robert's position. Jerome slammed his finger angrily against the home button on his phone and stood up.

"I'm going to leave him some voice messages," he said. "Today gets better and better by the fucking second..."

He stomped off and out of the changing room. Toni was about to call out to him and tell him to at least get dressed first, but Jerome was gone before he could do so. Groaning, Toni turned to his bag and pulled out his clothes. All he wanted to do more than anything was get back to the hotel and sleep- and talk to Jonas.

His eyes shifted to the left-back again. Jonas wasn't even trying to conceal the anger he was feeling, his scowl was on-par with one of Manu's best. Everyone was keeping a safe distance, even the younger ones who had uncontrollable sympathy for him. That strangely caring voice in Toni's mind was telling him to go up to Jonas and talk to him now, but the more cautious voice in his head was also telling him that it was probably best to wait until they were alone together. Jonas had always shown discomfort about being around too many people... Plus, he most likely wanted to be left by himself for now...

Toni felt a mild sense of frustration. Everyone had their limits, even those with unconditional niceness like Jonas. He had let himself get pushed to those limits, because he had never openly expressed any of those bottled up emotions inside of him... Now it was all going to leak out of him, and the worst thing was, Toni suspected that Jonas wouldn't even try to healthily cope with how he was feeling... Not that Toni was particularly knowledgeable about healthily coping with emotions, but he at least was reasonably well-balanced in the first place...

He heard a noise from nearby. He turned around and saw that Mats had banged his head against the wall beneath his peg, his body language completely dejected. Toni knew he was beating himself about the mistake he had made which had led to the penalty. It didn't help that Marco had started loudly recounting how shit he had played during the match to Sami, who wasn't evenin listening to him. Toni thought about saying something to reassure him, but Benni stepped in front of him and blocked his view before he could. Toni turned away to give them some space, deciding to leave the changing room to see Leon and Jess. He knew Benni would do a far better job than he ever could.

Benni was surveying his boyfriend with concern in his eyes.

"Mats," he said in a low voice.

Mats turned his head slightly upon hearing him, but kept his head resting against the wall. His eyes, slightly watery, met Benni's. For a few moments, he struggled to find something to say.

"Benni," he said eventually, in an attempt at sounding casual. Then his face crumpled slightly and he had to turn his head to pull himself together again. Benni took hold of his jaw, however, and gently turned his head back around, so the two of them were face-to-to face.

How was it possible that every second of a day could be miserable? Mats thought, as he looked into Benni's penetrating gaze. It had started off with Benni being really depressed about something, and had ended up with Mats being a useless clown, as per usual... And Benni was definitely unhappy right now, but he wasn't saying anything about it because Mats was such a mess...

Benni stroked Mats' curls away from his face and planted a light kiss on the tip of his nose. Mats closed his eyes, allowing himself just to enjoy the warmth and comfort of Benni's closeness to him. He wished they were alone together, preferably curled up in bed.  He could cry to Benni if they were in a private place, and he could allow himself to believe for one second that he wasn't human trash.

"Everyone was unfocused today, my love," Benni murmured, as though hearing his thoughts. He wrapped his arms around Mats' neck and pressed their foreheads together. "It was the type of game where nobody looked good. And that wasn't anyone's fault. It was just... fate."

"Fuck fate, then," Mats muttered. "It made me look like a complete fucking idiot, today. God, this was coming, wasn't it? I should've expected it. I've been so out of shape recently, and I've been eating like a fucking pig even though I know I've got to keep things reasonable and I just look like complete trash, God. I _am_ trash-"

"Mats," Benni said slowly and carefully, stopping Mats in the middle of his spiel. "You're doing it again."

He moved his head slightly backwards so he could see Mats better. His gaze was very intense and his brow was creased. Mats valiantly tried to keep eye contact, but the corners of his eyes were pricking with tears and he didn't want Benni to see him like this, it was so ugly-

"You are so fucking beautiful," Benni whispered, brushing his fingers against Mats' eyes. "Every day I look at you and think how lucky I am, and curse myself for all that time we wasted hating each other back in the day. I could've gotten you so much sooner. And it's not only about your physical attributes, hell, Mats, how many times do I have to tell you that it's more than that? You're the funniest, sweetest, most fucking stupid but clever person I've ever met and one bad football game is never going to make me forget that."

Mats could not speak. Benni kept brushing away the tears. He was standing very close to Mats and shielding him, so that nobody could see that he was crying.

"And you're not out of shape. It's just you getting paranoid again, you're completely fit," Benni said quietly. "You don't need to change anything, okay? You're healthy. You're fine. You're perfect."

"I wish I was recording this," Mats said in a slightly choked voice. Benni's voice was so  _soft._  "You're going to regret saying that soon enough."

"I'll never regret saying the truth, baby," Benni snorted. "I know you're going to hold this against me forever, but, I don't give a fuck, you deserve to know what you mean to me, even if you have to hear it every day. This game doesn't mean  _shit_ in the long run, it was a draw, it's the Nations League, we're already top of the group, nobody's going to think about you..."

Mats looked down. "Sometimes it's hard to believe you. I love you, Benni, more than I've ever loved anyone, and I know that I'm just being stupid, but still... I just feel like complete shit right now..."

"That's because you _were_ complete shit today, Hummels," a derisive voice spoke up behind them. 

Benni's grip tightened against Mats' jaw, and Mats felt heat flare in his skin. He had heard Marco talking shit about him, but he had been feeling so miserable he hadn't even bothered to react to him or noticed his approach. But now he felt like he had to react, because Benni's entire expression had changed from loving to ice-cold in less than a second.

"Shut the fuck up, Reus," he said in a measured tone of voice, staring intently at Benni. "Fuck off and leave us alone."

"He's come out with a flaming one," Marco said mockingly. His eyes were narrowed and he was staring more at Benni than Mats. "Shame he couldn't do it on the pitch..."

There was nothing about Marco's tone that indicated he was trying to be funny. Mats looked at Benni's slowly reddening face and knew instinctively that this had something to do with what had happened on the bench- Marco was clearly trying to provoke Benni. 

"Just ignore him," Mats said to Benni, shooting Marco a malevolent look. "He's got problems and he's trying to lash out at us. That's what he does. It's pathetic. Don't pay him any attention."

"Aww, you clearly have problems too," Marco said coldly. "Are those tears I see? Crying at a goddamn Nations League game, name me something more pathetic." 

Mats felt a squirm of humiliation in his stomach. He turned his head away, blinking very hard in the other direction. Benni's entire body was rigid.

"Yeah, they are tears, Reus," he said icily. "Tears just like the ones you probably see running down your boyfriend's face on a daily basis. _That's_ something more pathetic."

Mats took a sharp intake of breath.

Marco didn't really react at first, but then, a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Come on, then, Höwedes. If you're asking me to fucking punch you in the face, step right here and I'll do it as many times as you like."

"How feisty. You sure have a lot of energy when it comes to anything other than solving your own problems," Benni snarled. "I have a suggestion for you, Reus. How about you stop being a fucking coward and flinging your issues at other people, and focus on sorting yourself out for once?"

"You want a concussion too, Höwedes? I really am giving you a genuine offer, you can have one for free," Marco said, beckoning Benni forwards. "Just come a little closer!"

Mats tugged Benni backwards, sensing that things were about to get physical very quickly. Benni pulled his hand out of Mats' grip, but he couldn't throw a punch, because Fips had come storming up to them.

"Reus! Höwedes!" he snapped. Leon was trailing behind him, still pale and upset looking, his eyes flickering nervously between his old captain and Marco. For some reason, Manu was standing beside them too, looking strangely wary in the face of the ensuing chaos.

"What?" Marco snarled at Fips, his fists clenched by his sides.

"Don't you _what_ me," Fips growled at them. "What the hell do you two think you're playing at, acting so juvenile when one of your young teammates has just been severely injured? Do you think this is the time for your childish nonsense?"

"He keeps trying to provoke me!" Benni shouted at Fips, shoving a finger in the directon of Marco. "He keeps getting up in our business and constantly trying to dig at us, I'm getting fucking sick of his shit!"

"You are an adult!" Fips bellowed at him. "You know he's trying to get under your skin, why do you fall for his bait every single time?"

"Because somebody needs to keep him in check! All he does is cause trouble and try and drag people down, he's a fucking mess!" Benni yelled. "Even his own boyfriend isn't standing anywhere near him, because he's so goddamn unbearable!"

Everyone glanced towards Mario, who was talking to Marc-Andre, determinedly ignoring the fact that his boyfriend was clearly in a fight again. Mats thought that this would be the comment that caused Marco to snap, but to his surprise, the Dortmund captain just started laughing derisively. Benni's eyes flashed at the mockery and it took the combined efforts of Manu and Mats to drive him backwards.

"Benz- chill out, yeah?" Manu said. He was stronger than Mats, so he was able to contain Benni more effectively. "He's getting a laugh out of you being like this- don't give him that satisfaction!"

Manu's presence just seemed to make Benni more frustrated, and made Marco laugh harder.

"What's so funny?" Fips demanded sharply. "You're really pushing it, Reus, all of you are- this is just disgraceful behaviour,  _Kai is in hospital right now-_ "

"And if Reus steps one centimetre closer to me, he'll get a kick in the head by me and end up there too- it's what happens to annoying fucking children!" Benni spat.  

Mats winced. 

"Jesus, Benni!" Leon interjected, looking shocked. He had been hovering anxiously at the side with no intention of speaking up, but this comment had pushed him to say something. "You can't talk about Kai like that, the kid was seriously injured!"

He seemed to regret his words the moment they came out of his mouth. A famous rule during his time at Schalke had been to never push Benni when he was in a temper- if you did, you were in for a world of pain. But during those times Benni's anger had seemed almost comical, something he, Julian and Leroy could freely laugh at. Right now, Benni was in a real rage, and the last thing Leon should have done was talk back to him.

"What the fuck did you just say to me, you little brat?" he snarled. It felt like he was taller than even Manu at that moment. "Do you want to question me again? Do it with your fucking chest!"

Leon stammered incoherently, actually taking a step backwards. Fips stepped in.

"You won't vent your spleen on him," he said sharply. "He's absolutely right, too, you  _won't_ talk about Kai like that. It's a horrible, immature thing to do, and you're much better than that, Höwedes."

Benni still looked furious, but there was a hint of shame in his eyes. He looked at the terrified Leon to the severe looking Fips, then he looked at Mats, who gave his head a slight shake. He _couldn't_ look at Manu. He stepped backwards.

"Yeah, you're right," he muttered. The words seemed difficult to get out, he was still looking at Marco with utmost loathing. "I shouldn't have said that, that was going too far. I should've held my tongue. Es-es tut mir leid."

"Thank you," Fips said, but that was not the end of the situation. Marco was still sneering, the Mario comment branded into his mind and making him see red.

"Have you  _still_ got something to say?" Mats demanded in disbelief. 

“Yeah, I do, actually. Something to say to your precious boyfriend,” Marco snorted. “You’re a fucking trip, Höwedes. You're a spiteful, cold bastard. Imagine _you_ pretending that you care about anything, and bringing up my relationship with Mario, don’t make me laugh, you’re ten times the dickhead I am. You just proved that now."

"I didn't fucking mean it," Benni snarled. "It slipped from my tongue."

"You don’t have a drop of love in your body anyway!" Marco was shouting now. "just look how you treated Neuer after you broke up!”

An icy chill seemed to suddenly spread across the group. Fips drew in a sharp breath and looked at Manu, whose body had tensed considerably. The blood drained from Benni's face.

“ _Shut up!_ Are you a petty teenager? Don’t bring shit up that you don’t even understand!” he hurled at Marco, after throwing half a glance at Manu. Fips thought that he looked more scared than angry. “Anyway- I- I- I wasn’t- I- I was straight up with how I felt, okay? And that was better than you being shady and cold shouldering Mario, because for all your big talk you’re too much of a pussy to say how you actually feel-”

“I wasn’t straight up because I didn’t want to _hurt_ him!” Marco bellowed. The entire dressing room, who had been too absorbed in themselves to acknowledge yet another Marco and Benni fight, all looked around this time. Even Mario stopped pretending to be unable to hear Marco.“Because even though I was angry, I still cared about him enough to not want to fling shit in his face- you didn’t give a fuck about Neuer, obviously, because you’re fucking hateful!”

Benni blanched even further. Mats was about to step in and scream at Marco, honestly, he just wanted to punch the Dortmund captain, square in the face, but he couldn’t say anything, because Manu spoke. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said in a low voice. Even when speaking quietly he could still sound thunderous.

Everyone looked around at him. Thomas was peering curiously across the changing room- he had been talking with Basti and Lukas, not really paying attention to where Manu had wandered off to. 

“Benni isn’t a hateful person," Manu said fiercely. "You know nothing about him. What happened between us- it was- it was-”

He now looked almost nervous as he glanced at Benni, who was staring at him with a strangely vulnerable expression on his face. Marco was so astonished that Manu was speaking so openly that he couldn’t even find any words to interject with.

“It was my fault,” Manu finished, looking strained. “Why we fell apart. It wasn’t his.”

“Manu,” Benni murmured. He looked deeply uncomfortable. 

“It was justified, how he acted. I’ve never blamed him. Ever,” Manu said slowly and carefully, sounding more determined now. “If anything, I deserved it. You don’t know shit about what’s happened, so don’t attack him like that-”

“Manu, don’t,” Benni said more loudly. He was shaking his head.

“He doesn’t deserve it, he’s a kind person and Mats can tell you that for himself-” Manu gestured at Mats, who nodded with certainty but was looking at Benni hesitantly.  “He was always kind to me before I- before I left. There are two sides to every story and you don't even know one. You don’t know anything about me, if I was him I would’ve acted the same way-”

“Manu, stop!” Benni said. His voice was trembling.

Manu paused in the middle of speaking and looked at him. Mats gripped Benni's elbow. Fips’ eyebrows left his hairline when he saw that the Schalke captain's eyes were bright with tears.

“Don’t say stuff like that, don’t, it wasn’t your fault, it _was_ all me- and- and-” Benni seemed unable to find words. "You shouldn't try to defend me. Okay? Just... just..."

He trailed off, all out of words. He stared around at them all, looking cornered and afraid- trapped by his past self. He could hardly stand to look at Manu, Manu with his eyes shadowed and his forehead lined, whose eyes crinkled with laughter and who had never done Benni any wrong intentionally-

He couldn’t take it. He grabbed his bag and fled the changing room before anyone could call after him. 

"Benni!" Mats cried, holding out a hand to him. But Benni was gone. Mats' face contorted with anger and he spat at Marco, “There you go, I hope you’re happy. Now you’ve dragged everybody down to your level, now everyone’s just as miserable as you! You're such a child! Ugh, just go fuck yourself, Marco!”

Marco didn't even have a spiteful comment, he simply looked stunned. Mats left the changing room to find Benni, ranting about Marco at the top of his voice. Fips looked after them with his expression strained, Leon looked just as shocked as Marco did and Manu left them all whilst pressing his fingertips to his temples. 

"God, is that them continuing their fight from before? What is _up_ with those two?" Mario Gomez said, from the other side of the changing room. "They can't even give it a rest at times like this, fucking hell..."

Miro tugged a shirt over his head, looking worried. "They shouldn't be letting tempers fly right now. We all need to stay calm and composed."

"Like they'd ever listen. Brandt and Leno have already gone running off and Khedira and Özil are throwing shit at each other too," Mario muttered. He looked at Miro, who was looking deeply preoccupied. "What... What are  _you_ going to do, Miro?"

Miro looked surprised. "Me?"

"Yeah, you," Mario said. "Are you still going to meet with Michael?"

"Ah..." Miro looked down at the floor. "I was thinking about that. I don't actually think it's the right time for that, I was thinking of calling him and cancelling our meet-up.."

Mario shook his head. "I thought so. Miro, you don't need to cancel your meet-up with him, really. You're not going to be doing anything other than breaking up stupid fights back at the hotel."

"But I feel like I should be with the team," Miro mumbled. "It's been a really tough day. If I run off..."

"It's not running off. It's you meeting with a friend. A friend you don't see very often at all, and probably won't see for a long time after you go back to Italy," Mario said. "I know you're worried, but you can't do anything to stop what's happening right now. You're not obligated to, anyway. You're not the captain. You should go, Miro."

Miro fidgeted with the sleeve of the tracksuit jacket he had just pulled on. "I know there's not much I can do... But I feel like I still need to be here, for, for morale, you know?"

"You should be there for Michael, too, though," Mario said. "He seems really lonely these days. Everyone here has someone to lean on, but he doesn't seem to have anyone. We get the pleasure of your company all the time, but he never gets it."

"I... I suppose that's true." Miro's stomach had twinged unpleasantly when Mario had said Michael seemed lonely. "I shouldn't cancel on him, should I?"

Mario shook his head. "You shouldn't. He really likes you- not in that way, obviously, I don't know if Michael's gay or not- ha-"

Miro almost laughed out loud, but he had learnt restraint over the years.

"- you two were obviously great friends, right? He'd probably get sad if you bailed on him last minute. I've seen Michael sad. It's enough to make anyone sad. I actually prefer him when he's angry. Do you remember when he used to get so angry as a captain? He used to go _nuts,_ you wouldn't think someone like Michael could go crazy, but man, could Michael yell. He absolutely destroyed me at the Euros, d'you remember that? I nearly cried. Man, there's always got to be a scary captain. But, you know, he never ever yelled at you, honestly, you're somehow immune to it-"

"I wasn't always, Oli didn't discriminate with his yelling," Miro murmured. Most of Mario's rambling had gone over his head, he was still slightly confused about what to do. "But yes, Michael was a man with a lot of spirit, you're right."

"Wonder what happened to him," Mario said contemplatively. Then he shook his head slightly and turned to Miro. "Sorry, I got side-tracked. Again.  Anyway. Go out with Michael! I mean, don't date him, unless- unless that's what you're into, but, like, spend the evening with him like you were going to. Enjoy yourself a little."

Miro smiled. Mario seeemed so enthusiastic for him to have a good time. "Okay, Mario... I will." 

Mario grinned at him. Miro stared back at him intently. The goofy smile on Mario's face faltered slightly, but then he hitched it back on more strongly and slapped Miro amiably on the shoulder, turning to find his trainers. 

Just a few metres away, Julian Draxler was lacing up his own trainers on the wrong feet. He wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to what he was doing, instead gazing towards where Jonas was sitting on the refreshments table.

Joshua noticed his wistful expression and frowned at him questioningly. He had been mostly silent and still since Kai had been knocked out, purely out of shock, but Julian, on the other hand, had been acting in a strangely antsy manner, as though he was desperate to do something that had been forbidden to him.

"What's up?" Joshua asked, as Julian accidentally got his laces tangled up into a knot. "You're doing them on the wrong feet, by the way. And you're knotting them."

"Huh?" Julian blinked and looked down at his shoes. "Shit, yeah, I am, aren't I."

He did not do anything to fix the situation. Nor did he try to explain his behaviour to Joshua, who was getting more bewildered by the second. 

"Jule?" Joshua said gently, waving a hand in front of Julian's face. "Are you alright, sweetheart? You're acting really out of it, right now."

"Am I?" Julian said vaguely. "Sorry, Josh. I just keep thinking about the kid. It's kind of messing me up. I feel so bad for him."

Joshua winced and nodded, touching his temple. "Shit, yeah, I get that. It's got to be the cruellest bit of irony I've ever seen in my life. Imagine having your idol knock you out."

"Giroud didn't have to  _hurt_ the kid to do it. He could've just given Kai a hug or something," Julian sighed. "The force of his sexiness would've sent the kid out straight away. It's so unfortunate it had to happen like this."

"...  _What?_ "

Julian looked just as confused as Joshua. "Man, I don't even know what I'm saying. My brain's all fogged up. I think I need a long nap or something- _hey!_ "

The last word had come out as a strangled yelp, and Julian's expression suddenly became frantic. Joshua looked even more alarmed than he had done earlier, turning around to see what had gotten his boyfriend so worked up. Then he realised that it was Jonas. The left-back had stood up and left his spot at the end of the room, and was clearly trying to leave the locker room. He detached his earphone at Julian's cry and turned his head- there was a questioning look on his face. 

It wasn't exactly a  _hey, what's up_ look, it was more of a  _what the fuck do you want_ look, but Julian chose to interpret it as the former. A pained smile flitted across his face and he put his hands on his hips in an effort to make himself look more casual. Joshua was utterly nonplussed.

"Well- hey there, Jonas!" Julian said with the most manufactured tone of brightness Joshua had ever heard. 

Jonas was expressionless. "Did you want something, Julian?"

It was so clear that Jonas wanted Julian to shut the fuck up and leave him be- Joshua couldn't understand why Julian still tried to carry on the conversation.

"How- how are you?" Julian asked. He himself looked agonised, clearly well aware that this conversation was benefitting nobody. "You- you holding up okay?"

Joshua wanted to evaporate on Julian's behalf.  _What kind of stupid question is that, he just got a red card! Where are you going with this?_

Jonas looked at Julian with a shrewd expression. "I'm fine, Julian."

"Oh," Julian said hurriedly, with a nervous laugh. "Not to contradict you, Jonas, because you're almost perfect in every way and have been wrong as many times as Olivier Giroud has looked unattractive in his lifetime-"

" _A lot, then?_ " Joshua said threateningly.

"But I'm almost ninety percent sure that what you said wasn't true!" Julian finished. Joshua's eyes widened in surprise. "I don't actually think you're fine! That was a rough game today, so... it's understandable. I just wanted to say... I... _we..._ care about you, you know? If you need something... we're here."

"That's true," Joshua said. "We all love you with every part of our souls, Jonas. We'll listen to you if you need to talk."

Jonas looked between them, one eyebrow raised, then his gaze settled on Julian. His expression was almost pitying.

"Don't worry," he said abruptly. "You will have forgotten it by tomorrow morning. Excuse me, I need to get somewhere."

Joshua opened his mouth to protest this, but Jonas had already walked past him, slotting his earphone back into his ear. Julian watched him go with his brow creased, wondering why he felt like Jonas' words had been more than a self-deprecating reassurance.

***  

_Private chat between Per Mertestacker and Philipp Lahm_

**Per:** pilhipp

 **Per:** philipp

 **Per:** lahm

 **Per:** philipp lahm

 **Per:** fips

 **Per:** lahmi

 **Per:** lahm philipp

 **Fips:** What is it, you stupid man?

 **Fips:** At least say something meaningful if you're going to bombard me with texts.

 **Per:** oh wow yikes

 **Per:** ok then

 **Per:** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gEfAKXH3ao8>

**Fips:** I will not click on that video as I know what it is immediately.

 **Fips:** You have sent it over eighteen times in response to my less than courteous replies to you.

 **Fips:** But I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurted you.

 **Fips:** It's been a very stressful day, as you might have worked out.

 **Per:** yes i assumed dont worry broski im just pulling ur pisser 

 **Per:** you ok My Bro?

 **Fips:** I'm fine.

 **Fips:** The rest of the team are not.

 **Per:** yeah yeah ok of course you are you're perfect arent u perfect fips

 **Fips:** Correct.

 **Per:** your mother is correct

 **Per:** come meet me pls, im in the vip area

 **Fips:** I want to, but.

 **Fips:** I should stay with the team.

 **Per:** why just for a few minutes lets talk, they're grown adults they can handle things on their own

 **Fips:** They're grown adults, yes.

 **Fips:**  ButI don't know where you got that last part from.

 **Per:** ok fair point that's valaid

 **Per:** fine i'll come to the changing room headass making me walk

 **Fips:** No, hold on.

 **Per:** what noW

 **Fips:** I will go and meet you, there's no point in coming all the way here. Everyone is stressed and you will end up getting kicked out by staff.

 **Per:** Wait for me.

 **Per:** hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!1111111111

 **Per:**  i love u u always have my best interests at heart 

 **Per:** get ur shortass over here then quickly man

 **Fips:** I love you too.

 **Fips:** And I'm on my way, clown. Stop whining.

 **Per:** im never going to stop whining

 **Per:** ive been waiting to see u in person for too long

 **Fips:** Well, you will see me now.

 **Fips:** Just for 10 minutes though.

 **Fips:** I know in my absence somebody will lose their life. 

 **Fips:** Preferably it will be Marco. 

 **Per:** hes stirring up trouble again?

 **Fips:** Of course.

 **Per:** then why not stick around for longer so more of them can be knocked off ;)

 **Fips:** Because unfortunately for me, they are fairly good football players and losing them would be quite catastrophic for our national team.

 **Per:** u could afford to lose mats at least

 **Per:** that'd be a double whammy

 **Fips:** Absolutely not. Then who would our back up for him be. 

 **Per:**...

 **Per:** me?

 **Fips:** That just proves my point about his loss being catastrophic for the national team.

 **Per:** wh-

 **Per:** wait, hold-

 **Per:** FIPS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 **Fips:** And I oop.

Per looked up from his phone furiously- he was going to pay Fips back for that one. He had a lukewarm bottle of Coke Zero in his hands and he was not afraid to use it. 

What he really wanted above all else, though, was to give Fips a goddamn enormous hug. He knew that Fips, for all his dry remarks and declarations that he was fine, was probably stressed as all hell right now. Captaining an emotional wreck of a team like the Nationalmannschaft was like eating a bowl of soup with boxing gloves on- messy, frustrating and with a high probability that one false move could ruin everything. And after the events of today, that soup was probably boiling hot.

He tapped his foot against the ground, receiving a steady stream of notifications from the  _gooners_ group chat but ignoring them all, because his mind was only on one thing right now. He took a swig of the Coke Zero just to give him something to do. He wondered how long it would take Fips to get here- the stadium wasn't exactly a fucking winding metropolis to navigate. Maybe he was being stopped by NT staff, or had been caught up by a brawl in the corridor...

"Per?"

Per looked up eagerly from his phone, which had just flashed with yet another group chat notification. There was the man himself, Philipp Lahm, unsmiling and with his brow slightly creased, but also with a faint look of relief in his eyes.

"Fips!" Per called out in delight. 

He bounded over to the man excitedly- given that the length of his legs were about half the length of the floor, he reached Fips in two strides. Fips barely had time to say anything before he was being strangled in a Per Hug, trapped in a tangle of overly long arms.

"You're just as short as I remembered!" Per said, patting the top of Fips' head when finally releasing the esteemed captain. He pretended to dab his eyes with the corner of his sleeve. "I'm sorry, I'm just so  _emotional_ right now."

"Be quiet, you stupid man," Fips sighed. His voice was fond, but he looked tense. "It's not been that long since you've last seen me."

"Seconds away from you feel like days, days away from you feel like months, months away from you feel like years, Fips," Per protested, running his hands through Fips' hair. 

Fips rolled his eyes, giving a small smile. "Seconds  _with_ you feel like days to me."

"You meant that to be a drag, but really I'm just flattered. You make the most of every second with me!" 

Fips made a face at this interpretation. Per beamed at him in turn. They had a silent stand-off, Disdain versus undiluted Joy, until finally Disdain gave in and looped his arms around Joy's neck, pulling him downwards into a kiss.

When they pulled apart, Per gave a nervous giggle.

"Playing fast and loose with the rules, are we, Fips?" he said in a conspiratorial whisper, though his cheeks had gone rosy. "Someone could've walked in right then, you know."

"After the day we've had, I doubt anything could be a surprise right now," Fips sighed again, dropping his head into Per's chest.  "Still, we probably should excercise caution. I imagine that a big reveal about... us... would be the _dream_ to the writer penning our life story right now. And to Schweinsteiger and Podolski."

But he did not move away from Per.

"Is Arjen still clowning you?" Per murmured, grinning. 

"He can't do anything the fuck else. Useless bald bastard," Fips muttered. "Before the match I got a barrage of photo messages about our height difference. And the standard amusing line-  _he's in the crowd, make him proud!"_

"For the record, you always make me proud," Per said.

Fips snorted. "You're starting to sound like Robert and Jerome. Both of them."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Per sighed. "They  _love_ each other, Fips."

"It's a shame the same can't be said for us."

"I'm just going to skip over that last comment. There wasn't any heart in it anyway, you love me," Per said haughtily. Then his voice went much lower, because he could feel how tense Fips was. "Hey, sweet. About that day you've had."

"Mmm."

"How are you holding up after it?" Per murmured. "Well, you're still living it, but... you know what I mean."

"Hmm. Well, let's see," Fips said in a strained voice. Per could tell he had been waiting for the question. "Kai's gone to hospital. They realised the moment they got a good look at him that he was going to need fast medical treatment. The velocity at which Giroud hit him at, and how heavy Giroud is, meant that the blow was a terrible one."

Per winced in understanding. "I could see that, yeah."

"So Kai's in hospital, getting care right now for a terrible head injury. And Julian and Bernd thought it would be a good idea to rush off without so much as a word of warning, so they could find out what was happening with him." Fips closed his eyes tightly. Per's fingers raked through his hair soothingly. "I  _told_ them to wait and let the medical professionals do what they had to do, but they just wouldn't listen. They couldn't keep themselves in check and make the rest of our lives easier by just staying  _put._ "

"Hey, Kai's close to them. It might have been stupid, but they're not thinking rationally right now, right?" Per said gently. "Hell, Julian's just a kid-"

"He's  _not_ a kid!" Fips said suddenly. "He's  _twenty two!_ He's an  _adult,_ now!"

Per hummed. "I know, Fips, it's true, but he's still-"

"Why don't any of these goddamn footballers have one shred of maturity?" Fips said almost hysterically. "Did- did this sport just take that  _away_ from them? They're all so unbalanced, it's crazy! Brandt and Leno, acting like impulsive children, when they'reold enough to know _better_ by now! Reus and Höwedes and Hummels, nearly thirty, and they still scream and scratch at each other like fucking teenagers! Hector, never saying a word to anyone about anything! I feel like- like I've got a steel pokerin my head, or something, because of them!  I- I-"

He clenched his fists, then let out a frustrated noise and started banging his head lightly against Per's chest. There was a long silence.

"Why don't you take a deep breath, darling?" Per said at last, stroking Fips' hair. 

Fips took a long, rattling breath, then groaned loudly. "Jesus. I'm sorry. I don't know what that was."

"I'll tell you what that was," Per said gently. "That was stress."

"Nonsense," Fips said. "I'm too old to feel stress by this stage."

"Hah! Good one. Love, you captain two of the most emotionally dysfunctional teams on the planet, both of them German," Per murmured. "You got done dirty. Being captain of Arsenal alone is enough to make my hairs go grey, and we're a relatively dull and unmotivated club. I can't imagine doing what you do with all these human disasters around you."

Fips' expression was grim. "God. You're right, aren't you?  _You're_ right."

"I don't appreciate the tone of disgust, love, but yes, I am right," Per said, a hint of a smile playing across his lips. "You're stressed and that's normal, Fips. You know very well how normal that is. You've told me that yourself. You've dealt with my stress..."

Fips' eyes softened and he lifted up a hand to touch Per's face. Per took hold of it and planted a kiss against his knuckles.

"I'm basically a parent balancing twenty three kids at once," Fips said abruptly, squeezing Per's hand tightly and looking away. "The captain who's meant to whip everyone into shape. Except everyone's bent like human fucking palm trees."

"That's one way to put it, and a good one at that," Per agreed. "You're right, you basically are dealing with a bunch of impulsive children. You've inherited an immature bunch, that's just how it is. You've got a lot of responsibility on your shoulders, sweet."

Fips let out an aggravated groan again. "Well, I'm sick of it. I'm not some honourary parent figure to these clowns, I'm a football player. They're _professionals._ Some are nearly  _thirty._ Thirty! It's ridiculous, and I'm not obliged to clean up after them."

"You're not. But you will," Per said. "Because you care about all of us too much."

Fips didn't want to look at Per, he just knew the goofy clown giant was giving him one of those soft, understanding smiles and was reading into his behaviour better than anyone else ever could.

"That's a bold assumption to make," he said instead, with a brave attempt at scorn. But then he crumpled under Per's raised eyebrow- something that would've had the national team gaping, they were so used to it happening the other way around. "Alright. I do. I'm an empathetic _loser_. I'm Miro."

Per hummed again and smiled. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. Miro's the best person we know."

"He is, but he's also soft. _I'm_ not meant to be soft," Fips said, a little petulantly.

"Love, it's a little too late to worry about that. What's done is done," Per sniggered. "You're softer than Higuain's belly after a night out."

Fips rolled his eyes and lightly headbutted Per again. He kept his eyes on the floor for a few seconds.

These stolen moments were the only times he could express himself like this. Now he was going to have to gather up his spilled anger and stuff it back inside of him, keeping it carefully stowed away where it wouldn't burst out again. He imagined wistfully what this international break could have been like if Per had been around to ground him- and then he sighed again. He looked up.

"I'm sorry," he said with feeling.

Per put a finger to Fips' lips. "Shut up, you goofy. You don't apologise to me."

"This wasn't quite what I expected our talk to turn into," Fips pressed on, as Per pressed his finger harder. "I _am_ happy to see you, sweetheart."

"You don't need to tell me for me to know it," Per said, winking. "I wasn't expecting this to be the most carefree reunion in the world, don't worry. I saw Havertz getting knocked down."

"I... I should probably be getting back, now," Fips said miserably. "I don't want to. But, you know-"

"- everything will implode without you," Per finished. "I understand. We can see each other soon."

He didn't look annoyed at all, in fact, he was smiling widely at Fips. Fips decided that the last thing he wanted in the world right now was to leave Per Mertestacker's side.

"Why don't you come with me?" he suggested quickly. "You're an NT member, I'm sure they won't care about you loitering-"

He faltered when he saw Per's arched eyebrows and little smile.

"Alright, fine," Fips said reluctantly. "This wasn't the talk I wanted to have with you, though." 

"We can have that talk later. Call me when you're back at the hotel," Per said, tipping Fips an enormous wink that Fips did not return. 

 "I will. It's not the same, though," Fips said glumly. "Plus, I'll probably end up comforting Goretzka all night. Or finally getting killed in the crossfire of a Reus, Hummels and Höwedes fight."

"I expect to hear from you either way," Per said sternly, catching Fips' hand and kissing it before Fips could turn away and slink off. "I love you. You've got this. You can vent to me as much as you like later."

Fips looked even more gloomy. "I love you too. And I've missed you. Even though we're sounding even _more_ like Lewandowski and Boateng now.  _And_ Schweinsteiger and Podolski. God, what am I becoming?"

"Again, honey," Per called after him wearily, as Fips traipsed away. "Comparing ourselves to other loving and healthy relationships is  _not_ as bad as you make it out to be."

***

  _thomas is bayern's past present and future_

 **James:** i-

**David:**

 

**Thiago:**

**James:** ok but-

 **David:** shhh, james, shhh

 **David:** a young kid got knocked out, there's nothing you can say this time

**James:**

**Serge:** jesus christ poor fuckign kai :((((

 **Serge:** poor jons :((((

 **Serge:** poor leo :(((

 **Serge:** what a fucking shitoshohow :(((

 **Thiago:** that shit was visceral

 **Thiago:** my skull actually ached when I saw it

 **Thiago:** the blow echoed through the screen and bounced off the insides of my brain 

 **Xabi:** That was a bucket of shit.

 **Xabi:** The Germans threw shit at the French, the French threw shit at the Germans, they started a shit fight. They threw so much shit at each other that they couldn't pick up shit, couldn't throw shit, couldn't do shit.

 **Arjen:** They  _were_ shit too

 **Arjen:** Truly a football spectacle

 **Javi:** I feel so sorry for all of them! :(

 **Javi:** For Kai especially, head injuries are no joke! 

 **James:** isn't the kid like, in love with olivier giroud as well?

 **James:** im not going to lie, 

 **James:** like i really can't lie it's against my mandate but,,

 **James:** that shit is lowkey funny

 **Serge:** JASEM WTF

 **James:** I'M NOT SAYING HIM GETTING KNOCKED OUT IS FUNNY-

 **Xabi:** Yes you are.

 **James:** I'M JUST SAYING THE CIRCUMSTANCES,,,, THE CONTEXT---

 **James:** HE GOT KNOCKED OUT BY THE MAN HE LOVES

 **James:** LIKE-

 **Serge:** HOW IS THAT FUNNY YOU'RE A SICK OTHERFUCKER

 **David:** the real issue i have here is the fact that serge managed to misspell 'james'

 **Serge:** sHHHhhHhHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!HHHHHHHHHHH8uuuuuuuuuuuuT THE Fuck!!!!

 **Serge:** im fucingk stresssed ok

 **Javi:** :(

 **Javi:** Don't worry, Serge!

 **Javi:** He would have gotten treatment straight away

 **Arjen:** Yeah tbh like he's probably going to be completely fine with the level of care they have for millionaires

 **Arjen:** I mean maybe it doesn't happen in every case but it's likely he's going to be completely fine

 **Arjen:** Probably concussed but 

 **Arjen:** What's a concussion right

 **Arjen:** Except they're quite serious actually never mind

 **Arjen:** Did you know I actually saw this interesting article

 **Arjen:** That said that European footballers who get a concussion are more likely to suffer a dip in form than American footballers!

 **Arjen:** Because European head-care is lacking while Americans are like "lol no you cant play until you're fully okay again"

 **Arjen:** At least the MLS does one thing right European head-care is ass now I think about it

 **Arjen:** Like trash, no wonder most footballers end up with dementia because of head injuries

 **Javi:**...

 **David:** my man you really give as many fucks as james receives

 **Serge:** thanky you , arjen,  !

 **Serge:** you did asbolutely nothing to help !

 **Xabi:** Aren't we lucky to have you as a senior member of the team.

 **Arjen:** Oh shit 

 **Arjen:** What I meant to say was

 **Arjen:** Havertz will be fine.

 **Serge:** FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFfuffucUCKCKING

 **Serge:** FUcK this is tedptrible poor leo

 **James:** was leon the one who got knocked out?

 **David:**  gangdid we all see what happened to robert too?

 **Thiago:** what happened to robert

 **Thiago:** YIKES I GOT A NOTIFICATION I SEE WHAT HAPPENED TO ROBERT

 **Javi:** Oh noooooooooooooooooooooooooo

 **Xabi:** 2-0 with an own goal to the Italians, 4-1 to Portugal

 **Xabi:** Robert hasn't had the best international break has he?

 **Xabi:** At least Germany absoltuely rinsed out and incinerated the Netherlands, they've got that to console themselves, what does Robert have?

 **Arjen:** You knew you didn't have to bring us into this.

 **Xabi:** That's right, I did.

 **David:** this is what i'm protected from

 **David:** i'm telling you, i just enjoy my unproblematic life with austria

 **David:** established mediocrity = peaceful living

 **James:** you must be the most peaceful fullback in the world then

**David:**

**Thiago:** it's your turn with the clown wig, dave. 

 **David:** can i borrow the makeup from you

 **Xabi:** Arjen's got it.

 **Arjen:** I've got your mother

 **Xabi:** You wish you did.

 **Xabi:** Then you'd have Spanish nationality, and a World Cup to your name.

_Arjen Robben left thomas is bayern's past present and future._

_Thomas Müller_ _added Arjen Robben to thomas is bayern's past present and future._

 **Arjen:** HOW

 **Serge:** OFFTOPIDC RPASTING HERE GUYS

 **Serge:** NONE OF YOU ARE EVEN THE SLIGHTEST BIT CONCERNED ARE YOU

 **David:** we dont even know him we've already given enough sympathy

 **Thiago:** yeah it's just drama to us we don't really care tbh we're not german are we 

 **James:** thank god for that

 **Serge:**!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  >:((((((((((((((((((((

 **Serge:** the insensitivity LEAPT out!!!!!

 **Xabi:** Just like the Netherlands leapt out of the Euros qualifiers.

 **Arjen:** JUST LIKE SPAIN LEAPT OUT OF THE 2014 GROUP STAGES

 **David:** _spain concedes_

 **Thiago:** bitch no we dont

 **Thiago:** they were the ones who conceded in the end

 **Javi:** I- 

 **Arjen:** A KID GOT HIS SKULL CRACKED OPEN AND THIS IS WHAT WE TYPE IN THESE TRYING TIMES

 **Arjen:** DEGENERATES AND REPROBATES

 **David:** matthijs de ligterally cant win a meaningful european title

 **Serge:**?!?!?!?!

 **Javi:** Serge on behalf of these people, I apologise-

 **Arjen:** YOU KNOW WHAT YOU LITTLE SLUTS

 **Arjen:**  This isLITERAL racism,

 **David:** dutch people literally have a football chant saying  "alle Duitsers zijn homo" 

 **Thiago:** to seven nation army

**James:**

**Arjen:** BUT THEY _ARE_ ALL GAY

 **Arjen:** ANYWAY FORGET THE CASUAL HOMOPHOBIA THAT IS RAMPANT IN FOOTBALL FOR A MOMENT WE CAN RETURN TO THAT IMPORTANT ISSUE WHEN IM FINISHED RANTING

 **Arjen:** WHY DOESN'T ROBERT GET MEMED

 **Arjen:** ROBERT SCORED AN OWN GOAL AND LOST 2-0 VS GODDAMN ITALY

 **Arjen:** BUT NOOOOOOOO WE CRITCISE ARJEN WHO TOOK HIS COUNTRY TO A WORLD CUP FINAL AND SEMI FINALS- 

 **Thiago:** when jerome pops onto the chat then you'll see why robert doesn't get memed

 **David:** jerome literally physically and spiritually embodies this video

 **David:** <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePwO-1T7it4>

**Javi:** Figuratively too

 **James:** KAAKALALALLALSLALSAKSK

 **Arjen:** WELL I WON'T STAND FOR THIS

 **Arjen:** I'M NOT A JOKE MY CAREER IS VALUABLE AND RESPECTABLE

 **David:** HOES MAD

 **Thiago:** HOES MAD

 **Xabi:** HOES MAD

 **James:** HOES MAD

 **Javi:** ~~HOES MAD~~

**Serge: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know i read this tumblr post with advice on not to do in fanfiction and i want to purge that post from my mind because i feel like its a self-fulfilling prophecy
> 
> also yes finally... perips is revealed... like it wasnt THE most fucking obvious thing in the world, i dont care theyre CUUUUUUUUUTE- it was revealed messily as well ... inconsistency is my mistress
> 
> literally i wont blame you if you go to the comments and tell me you want the water in my shower to be cold forevermore because it's been so long i am so, i should make a youtube apology video "es tut mir leid..."

**Author's Note:**

> im trash and unfunny but if anyone reads this and u want me to feature ur player or ship more hmu in the comments :)
> 
> this fic takes part in a timeline that definitely does not exist time does not exist in this fic for anything miro is somehow playing with leroy and the fixtures are all made up and reality is one big bowl of soupy nothingness! so if you spot the millions of major inconsistencies, that's why :P


End file.
